'f UBRARV SAN DtEOO IM :? '1 6: \ IVAN TURGENIEFF Volume V ON THE EVE f-S AND STORIES OF TUKGENIEFF . THE EVE ^" ^! ^-"yAN BY \ NEW YORK iARLES SCRIBNER'S SON^ 1903 I r. (iS:: ''"""^ttJn'' Thou wilt take me with thee, wilt thou not ? " From a drawing by E. POTTHAST. THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF IVAN TURGENIEFF ON THE EVE TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1903 Copyright, 1903, by Charles Scribner's Sons PREFACE In a preface to the complete edition of his works, pubhshed in 1880 (the last before his death), TurgenieiF furnishes some extremely interesting details about " On the Eve," in the form of a brief episode from his literary career. This episode runs as follows: " I spent nearly the whole of the year 1855 (as well as the three years preceding) in my village in the Mtzensk county, Orel Government. Among all my neighbours, the one with whom I was most intimate was a certain Vasfly Karatyeeff, a young landed proprietor, aged twenty-five. KaratyeefF was a romantic man and an en- thusiast, very fond of music and literature, gifted, in ad- dition, with peculiar humour, amorous, impressionable and straightforward. He had been educated In the Mos- cow University, and lived in the country with his father, who was seized with an attack of hypochondria, in the nature of insanity, every three years. KaratyeefF had a sister, — a very remarkable being, — who also ended by going Insane. All these persons died long ago; — that Is why I speak so freely of them. KaratyeefF forced him- self to attend to the farming, of which he understood absolutely nothing, and was particularly fond of reading and of conversing with persons who were sympathetic to him. Very few such people were to be found. The V PREFACE neighbours did not like him, because of his free-thinking and his mocking tongue: — moreover, they were afraid to introduce him to their wives and daughters, because he had a well-established reputation — in reality not in the least deserved by him, — of a dangerous Lovelace. He came frequently to my house, and his visits consti- tuted almost my sole recreation and pleasure at that period, which was not a very cheerful one for me. " When the Crimean war broke out, and recruiting be- gan among the nobility, under the name of the militia, the nobles of our county who disliked KaratyeefF con- spired among themselves, as the saying is, to rid them- selves of him, — and elected him the commanding officer of that militia company. On learning of his appoint- ment, KaratyeefF came to me. I was immediately struck by his perturbed and alarmed aspect. His first words were : ' I shall not return thence ; I shall not survive it ; I shall die there.' " He could not boast of robust health : his lungs ached constantly, and he was of frail constitution. Although I feared for him all the hardships of the campaign, still I endeavoured to banish his gloomy forebodings and be- gan to assure him that before a year had passed we should meet again in our lonely nook, should see each other, and chat and discuss as of old. But he obstinately persisted in his view ; and after a rather prolonged stroll in my park, he suddenly turned to me with the following words : " * I have a request to make of you. You know that I spent several years in Moscow, but you do not know that I had an experience there which aroused in me the desire to narrate it — both to myself and to others. I have PREFACE tried to do so; but I have been forced to the conviction that I possess no literary talent whatsoever — and the whole thing has ended in my writing it down in this copy-book, which I commit to your hands.' *' So saying, he drew from his pocket a small manu- script book, containing about fifty pages. ' I am so firmly convinced,' he went on, ' despite all your friendly consolation, that I shall not return from the Crimea, that I beg you to be so good as to take these rough sketches, and make something out of them which shall not vanish without leaving a trace, as I shall ! ' " I tried to refuse ; but perceiving that my refusal pained him, I promised to fulfil his wish, and that same evening, after Karatyeeff 's departure, I glanced through the book which he had left me. There, in hasty outlines, was sketched that which afterward constituted the sub- stance of ' On the Eve.' The story was not finished, however, and broke off abruptly. " Karatyeeff, during his residence in Moscow, had fallen in love with a young girl, who reciprocated his affection ; but, on making acquaintance with a Bulgarian named Katranoff (a person who, as I afterward learned, had formerly been very famous, and is not forgotten to this day in his native land), had fallen in love with him, and gone off with him to Bulgaria, where he soon died. — The story of this love was given with sincerity but in- artistically. Karatyeeff really had not been born for literature. One scene alone, namely, the jaunt to Tzar- itzyno, was limned with a good deal of animation — and in my romance I have preserved its chief features. " Truth to tell, at that time I was turning over other images in my head : I was preparing to write ' Rudin ' ; • • vu PREFACE but the task which I afterward tried to fulfil in ' On the Eve ' started up before me from time to time. The figure of the principal heroine, Elena, which was then a new type in Russian life, was pretty clearly defined in my imagination ; but a hero was lacking, — the sort of person to whom Elena, with her confused but powerful impulse toward freedom, could give herself. On perusing Ka- ratyeeff 's book I involuntarily exclaimed : ' Here 's the hero whom I have been seeking!' — There was none of that sort, as yet, among contemporary Russians. " When, on the following day, I saw KaratyeeflP, I not only repeated my promise to fulfil his request, but I thanked him for having rescued me from a difficulty, and cast a ray of light into my hitherto dark meditations and inventions. KaratyeefF was delighted, and repeating once more, ' Don't let all that perish,' he went oiF to serve in the Crimea, whence, to my profound regret, he did not return. His forebodings were realized. He died of typhus in camp near the Putrid Sea, where our Orel militia was stationed, — in earthen huts, — never seeing a single enemy during the whole period of the war, and nevertheless losing, from various maladies, about one- half of its men. " But I deferred the execution of my promise : I busied myself with other work ; on completing ' Riidin ' I began on ' A Nobleman's Nest ' ; and only in the winter of '58-'59, on finding myself again in the same village and the same surroundings as at the time of my acquaintance with Karatyeeff", did I feel that the slumbering impres- sions were beginning to stir. I hunted up and re-read his copy-book; the figures which had retreated into the background again advanced into the foreground — and I • • • Vlll PREFACE immediately took up my pen. A number of my friends knew at the time all which I have now related ; but I re- gard it as my duty now, on the definitive publication of my romances, to communicate it to the public also, and thereby pay at least a tardy tribute to the memory of my poor young friend. " And this is how a Bulgarian became the hero of my romance. But the Messrs. Critics have unani- mously reproached me for the artificiality and lif elessness of that character, have been surprised at my strange caprice in selecting a Bulgarian in particular, and have asked : ' Why ? For what reason ? What 's the sense of it.? ' — The casket has simply been opened; but I did not consider it necessary, at that time, to enter into further explanations." Assuredly, no one of TurgeniefF's books raised a greater storm, or provoked so diametrically op- posite opinions from the critics. Some declared that InsarofF was nothing but another Riidin; others that he was the precise antithesis of Rudin. Some admired his reticence, his strength, the high relief in which he was depicted ; others called him " shadowy," could detect no force or attraction in him, and jeered at his having captivated Elena by his " heroic " trip of forty miles, on behalf of his compatriots, and, in par- ticular, his silly feat with the German at Tzari- tzyno. Opinions as to Elena were equally diverse. The point about her which seemed particularly to irritate society and the critics was her abandon- ix PREFACE ment of her home (uncongenial as it was), and the bad example which she thereby set to other Russian girls. The special thing which fairly in- furiated many critics was that Turgenieff should have " imported " a hero from outside of Russia, —and from Bulgaria, of all places!— as though no men worthy of a serious maiden's love, or no fine men, were to be found at home. Their acerbity on this score ends by amusing one who peruses the contemporary and later criticisms. The author's explanation quoted above practically nullifies a great deal of what was written about Elena, as well as about Insaroif, of a carping character. The one thing which not one of them thought of saying— a woman would have said it probably, but the critics were all men— is: that with Elena's temperament and surroundings it was inevitable that she should fall in love with InsarofF, in spite of the fact that he says almost nothing, is repre- sented as merely preparing to act, and actually does nothing except in the two trivial instances cited. This proposition carries with it the corol- lary that hero and heroine are as faithful to life as are the secondary characters in the book, whom the critics all praised for their fidelity to nature and as genuine artistic creations. The book was first pubhshed in 1860. I. F. H. ON THE EVE: A ROMANCE (1859) ON THE EVE: A ROMANCE IN the shade of a lofty linden-tree, on the bank of the Moscow River, not far from Kiin- tzovo, two young men were lying on the grass, on one of the very hottest summer days of the year 1853. One, three-and-twenty years of age, judg- ing from his appearance, of lofty stature, swar- thy of visage, with a pointed and somewhat crooked nose, a high forehead, and a repressed smile on his broad lips, was lying on his back, and thoughtfully gazing into the distance, with his small, grey eyes screwed up; the other was lying on his chest, with his curly, fair-haired head propped on both hands, and was also gazing at something in the distance. He was three years older than his comrade, but seemed much younger: his moustache was barely sprouting, and a light down curled on his chin. There was something childishly pretty, something allur- ingly elegant, in the small features of his fresh, round face, in his sweet, brown eyes, his hand- some, full lips, and small, white hands. Every- thing about him exhaled the happy gaiety of 3 ON THE EVE health, breathed forth youth — ^the unconcern, self-confidence, self-indulgence, and charm of youth. He rolled his eyes about, and smiled, and put his head on one side as small boys do when they know that people like to look at them. He wore an ample white coat, in the nature of a blouse ; a blue kerchief encircled his slender neck, a crumpled straw hat lay upon the grass beside him. In comparison with him, his companion ap- peared to be an old man, and no one would have thought, to look at his angular form, that he was enjoying himself, that he was at his ease. He was lying in an awkward posture ; his large head, broad above and pointed below, was uncouthly set upon his long neck; uncouthness was ex- pressed by every movement of his arms, of his body, clothed in a tight-fitting, short black coat, of his long legs, with elevated knees, resembling the hind legs of a grasshopper. Nevertheless, it was impossible not to recognise the fact that he was a well-bred man; the stamp of "good- breeding " was perceptible all over his ungainly person, and his countenance, which was homely and even somewhat ridiculous, expressed a habit of thought and kindliness. His name was Andrei Petrovitch BersenefF ; his comrade, the fair-haired young man, was named Shiibin, Pavel Yakov- litch. " Why dost thou not lie on thy breast, as I am 4. ON THE EVE doing?" began Shiibin. "It's much better so. Especially when you stick your feet in the air, and click your heels together — this way. The grass is just under your nose: it's tiresome to gaze at the landscape — watch some fat little bee- tle crawl up a blade of grass, or an ant bustling about. Really it 's much nicer. But thou hast assumed a sort of pseudo-classical pose, precisely like a ballet-dancer when she leans her elbows on a cardboard cliff. Remember, that thou hast now a perfect right to rest. It 's no joke to have graduated third in the class ! Take your rest, sir ; cease to strain yourself; stretch out your limbs! " Shubin enunciated the whole of this speech through his nose, half -languidly, half -jestingly (spoiled children talk in that manner to the friends of the family, who bring them sugar- plums), and, without waiting for an answer, he went on: " What surprises me most of all, in the ants, beetles, and other worthy insects, is their wonder- ful seriousness; they run to and fro with counte- nances as grave as though their lives were of some importance ! Why, good gracious, man, the lord of creation, the most exalted of beings, may be looking at them, but they care nothing for him; perhaps, even, a gnat may alight upon the nose of the lord of creation, and begin to utilise him as food. This is insulting. But, on the other hand, in what respect is their life inferior to ours ? 5 ON THE EVE And why should n't they put on airs of impor- tance if we permit ourselves to be pompous? Come now, philosopher, solve this riddle for me! Why dost thou maintain silence? Hey? " " What ..." ejaculated Berseneff, coming to himself with a start. "What!" repeated Shubin. "Thy friend expounds profound thoughts to thee, and thou dost not listen to him." " I was admiring the view. Look, how hotly yonder fields are blazing in the sunlight! " (Ber- seneff lisped a little. ) " A good bit of color that," — replied Shubin. — " In a word, it is nature! " Berseneff shook his head. " Thou shouldst be more enthusiastic over all this than I am. It 's in thy line: thou art an artist." " No, sir; it 's not in my line," — retorted Shii- bin, and pushed his hat back upon the nape of his neck. — " I 'm a butcher, sir; my business is flesh, modelling flesh, shoulders, feet, hands, but here there are no contours, there is no finish, it melts off in all directions. . . Go, seize it if you can!" " Why, precisely therein lies its beauty," — re- marked Berseneff. " By the way, hast thou fin- ished thy bas-relief? " "Which one?" " The child with the goat." "Damn it! damn it! damn it! "—exclaimed 6 ON THE EVE Shiibin, in a drawl. — " I 've been looking at the real thing, at the old masters, at the antique, and I 've smashed my miserable stuff. Thou pointest out nature to me, and sayest: ' Therein lies beauty.' Of course, there is beauty in every- thing, there 's beauty even in thy nose, but one can't run after every bit of beauty. The an- cients — ^why, even they did n't run after it ; it descended of itself into their works, God knows whence, perhaps from heaven. The whole world belonged to them; we cannot expand ourselves so widely; our arms are too short. We fling out a bait at one tiny point, and then we watch for results. If there 's a bite, bravo ! if there is no bite " Shiibin thrust out his tongue. " Stop, stop," — responded Berseneff . " That is a paradox. If thou art not in sympathy with beauty, if thou dost not love it wherever thou en- counterest it, it will not give itself to thee in thine art. If a fine view, if fine music, have no- thing to say to thy soul, — I mean, if thou art not in sympathy with them . . . ." " Ekh, get out, thou sympathiser! " — retorted Shiibin hastily, and broke into a laugh at his own newly-coined word, but Berseneff became pen- sive. — " No, my dear fellow," — resumed Shiibin, " thou philosopher-sage, third in thy class at the Moscow University, 't is a terrible thing to argue with thee, especially for me, a student who 7 ON THE EVE did not finish his course; but just let me tell thee something: with the exception of my art, I love beauty only in women .... in young girls, and that only since quite recently. ..." He rolled over on his back, and clasped his hands under his head. A few moments passed in silence. The still- ness of the sultry midday weighed heavily upon the radiant and slumbering earth. " By the way, speaking of women," — began Shiibin again. — " Why does n't somebody take Stakhoff in hand? Hast thou seen him in Mos- cow? " " No." " The old fellow has gone quite out of his mind. He sits for whole days together at the house of his Augustina Christianovna, — he is hor- ribly bored, but there he sits. They gaze at each other, so stupidly. ... It 's repulsive even to look at. Just think of it! With what a family God has blessed that man: but no, give him his Augustina Christianovna! I don't know of any- thing more hideous than her duck -like physiog- nomy ! The other day, I modelled a caricature of her, in Dantesque style. It turned out quite well. I '11 show it to thee." ' " And the bust of Elena Pavlovna," — inquired Berseneff, — " is that progressing? " " No, my dear fellow, it is not progressing. That face is enough to drive one to desperation. 8 ON THE EVE You look, and the lines are pure, severe, regular ; apparently, there is no difficulty about catching the likeness. Nothing of the sort. ... It won't yield itself, any more than a treasure will drop into your hands. Hast thou noticed how she lis- tens? Not a single feature moves, only the ex- pression of her glance changes incessantly, — and that alters the whole face. What is a sculptor to do, and a bad sculptor into the bargain ? She 's a wonderful being .... a strange being," — ^he added, after a brief pause. *' She is a wonderful girl," — BersenefF re- peated after him. " And the daughter of Nikolai Artemievitch StakhofF! After that, just talk about blood, about race! And the amusing thing is, that she really is his daughter, she resembles him, and resembles her mother, Anna Vasilievna. I re- spect Anna Vasilievna with all my heart, — she is my benefactress : but she 's a hen, all the same. Where did Elena get that soul of hers? Who kindled that fire ? There 's another riddle for th©e, philosopher! " But the " philosopher," as before, made no re- ply. In general, Berseneff did not sin through loquacity, and, when he spoke, expressed himself awkwardly, hesitated, gesticulated unnecessarily: but on this occasion a special sort of stillness had descended upon his spirit, a stillness akin to weariness and sadness. He had recently settled 9 ON THE EVE in the country, after a long and difficult task which had occupied him for several hours every day. Inactivity, the softness and purity of the air, the consciousness of having attained his ob- ject, the whimsical and careless conversation with his friend, the suddenly-evoked image of a be- loved being, all these varied but, at the same time, in some way similar impressions were merged to- gether within him into one general feeling, which soothed, agitated him, and enfeebled him He was a very nervous young man. It was cool and quiet beneath the linden-tree; the flies and bees which fluttered about in its shadow seemed to hum in a more subdued manner; the clean, fine grass, of emerald hue, with no golden gleams, did not wave; the tall blades stood mo- tionless as though enchanted; the tiny clusters of yellow blossoms on the lower branches of the linden hung like dead things. Their sweet perfume penetrated into the very depths of the breast with every breath, but the breast inhaled it willingly. Far away, beyond the river, as far as the horizon, everything was glittering and blazing; from time to time a little breeze swept past, and broke and increased the scintillation; a radiant vapour quivered over the earth. No birds were to be heard: they do not sing in the hours of sultry heat; but the grasshoppers were shrilling everywhere, and it was pleasant to lis- ten to that hot sound of life, as one sat in the 10 ON THE EVE shade, at ease : it inclined to slumber, and evoked dreaminess. " Hast thou observed," — began BersenefF sud- denly, aiding his speech with gesticulations of his arms, — " what a strange feeling Nature arouses in us? Everything about her is so full, so clear, I mean to say, so satisfying in itself, and we understand this, and admire it, and, at the same time, she always — at least in my own case — causes a certain uneasiness, a certain agitation, even sadness. What is the meaning of this? Are we more powerfully conscious in her presence, face to face with her, of all our own incompleteness, our lack of clearness, or is that satisfaction where- with she contents herself not enough for us, while the other — I mean the one which she does not possess — is necessary for us? " " H'm,"— replied Shiibin,— " I '11 tell thee, Andrei Petrovitch, whence all this arises. Thou hast described the sensations of the solitary man, who does not live, but merely looks on, and swoons in ecstasy. What 's the good of looking on? Live thyself, and thou wilt be a fine, dashing fellow. Knock at the door of Nature as thou wilt, she will not respond with a single compre- hensible word, because she is dumb. She will ring and grieve, like the chord of a lyre, but thou must not expect any song from her. A living soul — and a woman's soul in particular — will re- spond. Therefore, my noble friend, I counsel 11 ON THE EVE thee to provide thyself with a friend of the heart, and all thy melancholy sensations will immedi- ately vanish. That 's what we ' need,' as thou art wont to say. Seest thou, that agitation, that sadness, is simply a sort of hunger. Give the stomach the right sort of food, and everything will reduce itself to order at once. Take thy place in space, be a body, my dear fellow. And, after all, what is Nature, and what 's the good of her? Just listen: Love . . . what a mighty, burn- ing word! Nature . . . what a cold, scholas- tic expression! And then" (Shubin began to chant): "'Long life to Marya Petrovna!' or no," he added, " not to Marya Petrovna, but that makes no difference! Vous me comprenez" BersenefF half sat up, and propped his chin on his clasped hands. — " Why this raillery," — he said, without looking at his companion, — " why this jeering? Yes, thou art right: Love is a great word, a great feeling. . . . But of what sort of love art thou speaking? " Shubin also half sat up. — " Of what love? Of whatever sort you please, if only it be present. I will confess to thee that, in my opinion, there is no such thing as different sorts of love. . . . If thou hast loved . . . ." " I have, with all my heart," — interjected Ber- seneff. " Well, yes, that is a matter of course : the soul is not an apple: it cannot be divided. If thou 12 I ON THE EVE hast been in love, thou art in the right. And I had no intention to jeer. I have such tenderness in my heart now, it is so softened .... I merely wished to explain why nature, according to thee, has that effect upon us. Because she rouses in us the necessity for love, and is not able to satisfy it. She impels us gently to other, living em- braces, but we do not understand her, and we expect something from her herself. Akh, An- drei, Andrei, it is beautiful. This sun, this sky, everything, everything around us, is very beauti- ful, but thou art sad ; but if, at this moment, thou heldest in thy hand the hand of a beloved woman, if that hand and the whole woman were thine, if thou wert even gazing with her eyes, feeling not with thine own solitary feeling, but with her feeling, — Nature would not inspire thee with sadness, Andrei, and thou wouldst not begin to notice her beauty: she herself would rejoice and sing, she would join in thy hymn, because thou wouldst then have endowed her, the dumb, with a tongue! " Shiibin sprang to his feet, and strode back and forth a couple of times, but BersenefF bowed his head, and a slight flush suffused his face. " I do not entirely agree with thee," — he be- gan: — "Nature is not always hinting at . . at love to us." (He could not utter the word " love " at once.) " She also menaces us: she reminds us of . . . terrible . . . yes, of un- 13 ON THE EVE attainable mysteries. Is not she bound to engulf us, is not she incessantly devouring us? In her are both life and death; and in her death speaks as loudly as life." " And in love there is both life and death," — interposed Shubin. " And moreover," — went on Berseneff , — *' when I, for example, stand in springtime, in the forest, in a green copse, when I fancy I hear the sounds of Oberon's horn" (Berseneff was a little shamefaced when he had uttered these words) — "is that — " " It is a thirst for love, a thirst for happiness, nothing else! " — exclaimed Shubin, "I, too, know those sounds, I know that languor and anticipa- tion which invade the soul beneath the shadows of the forest, in its bosom; or, in the evening, in the open fields, when the sun is setting and the vapour is rising from the river behind the bushes. But from the forest and from the river, and from the earth, and from the sky, from every Httle cloud, from every blade of grass, I expect, I de- mand happiness, in everything I feel its ap- proach, I hear its summons. ' My god is a bright and merry god ! ' That is the way I once began a poem ; confess : it was a magnificent first Hne, but I could n't possibly match it with a second. Hap- piness ! happiness ! until life is over, so long as all our members are in our power, so long as we are going not down hill but up hill! Devil take it! " 14) ON THE EVE — continued Shiibin, with sudden fervour — *' we are young, we are not monsters, we are not stupid: let us conquer happiness for ourselves! " He shook his curls, and glanced upward in a self-confident, almost challenging manner at the sky. BersenefF looked at him. " Is there really nothing higher than happi- ness? " — he said softly. " What, for example? " — inquired Shiibin, and paused. " Why, here, for example, thou and I, as thou sayest, are young; we are good fellows, let us assume ; each of us wishes happiness for himself. .... But is that word ' happiness ' the sort of word which would have united us, would have kindled us to flame, would have made us offer each other our hands? Is it not an egotistical, a distintegrating word, I mean to say? " "And dost thou know any words which do unite?" *' Yes, — and there are not a few of them ; and thou knowest them also." " You don't say so? What words are they? " " Why, take art, for instance, — since thou art an artist, — fatherland, science, liberty, justice." " And love? " — asked Shiibin. " Love, also, is a word which unites ; but not that love for which thou art now thirsting: not love as enjoyment, but love as sacrifice." Shiibin frowned. 15 ON THE EVE " That 's all right for the Germans ; I want to love for myself; I want to be number one." " Number one," — repeated BersenefF. — " But it strikes me that the whole significance of life consists in placing one's self as number two." " If everybody were to act as thou counsel- lest," — remarked Shiibin, with a lugubrious grimace, — " nobody on earth would eat pine- apples : everybody would leave them for some one else." " As a matter of fact, pineapples are not in- dispensable; however, have no apprehensions: there will always be people to be found who would like to take the bread out of other people's mouths." The two friends remained silent for a while. " I met Insaroff again the other day," — began Berseneff : — " I invited him to call on me; I am very anxious to introduce him to thee .... and to the StakhofFs." " What Insaroff is that? Akh, yes, that Ser- vian or Bulgarian, of whom thou hast spoken to me? Is n't it he who has put all those philo- sophical thoughts into thy head? " " Perhaps so." " Is he a remarkable individual? " " Yes." "Clever, gifted?" " Clever? . . . Gifted? I don't know, I don't think so." 16 ON THE EVE " No? What is there remarkable about him? " " Thou wilt see. But now, I think it is time to be going, Anna Vasilievna is expecting us, I fancy. What time is it?" " Two o'clock. Come along. How stifling it is! This conversation has set all my blood aflame. And there was a moment when thou, also . . . I 'm not an artist for nothing: I have taken note of everything. Confess, a woman occupies thy mind? . . ." Shiibin tried to peer into Bersenefl"s face, but the latter turned away, and emerged from be- neath the shade of the linden. Shiibin followed him, treading with graceful swagger on his tiny feet. BersenefF moved clumsily, raised his shoul- ders high as he walked, thrust forward his neck: but, notwithstanding this, he appeared a better- bred man than Shiibin, more of a gentleman, we should have said, had not that word become so trite among us. 17 II The young men descended to the Moscow River, and strolled along its banks. The water exhaled coolness, and the soft plash of the little waves caressed the ear. " I should like to take another bath," — re- marked Shubin, — " but I 'm afraid of being late. Look at the river: it is fairly beckoning to us. The ancient Greeks would have recognised it as a nymph. But we are not Greeks, O nymph! — we are thick-skinned Scythians." " We have water-nymphs also," remarked Ber- senefF. " Get out with your water-nymphs! What use have I, a sculptor, for those offspring of a confused, cold fancy, those images born in the reek of a peasant's hut, in the gloom of winter nights? I must have light, space. . . When, my God, shall I go to Italy? When . . . ." " That is, thou intendest to say, to Little Rus- sia? " " Shame upon thee, Andrei Petrovitch, to re- proach me for a thoughtless bit of stupidity, of which, even without that, I have bitterly repented. Well, yes, I behaved like a fool: Anna Vasi- lievna, that Idndest of women, did give me money 18 ON THE EVE for a trip to Italy, but I betook myself to the Topknots/ to eat dough-balls, and . . . ." " Don't finish thy remark, please," — inter- rupted BersenefF. " Nevertheless, I will say that that money was not spent in vain. I beheld there such types, especially feminine types. . . Of course, I know : outside of Italy there is no salvation! " " Thou wilt go to Italy," — remarked Berse- neff, without turning toward him — " and thou wilt accomplish nothing. Thou wilt merely flap thy wings, but thou wilt not soar. We know you!" " But Stavasser soared. . . And he is not the only one. And if I don't soar — it will signify that I am an aquatic penguin, without wings. I 'm stifling here, I want to go to Italy," — went on Shiibin, — " there is sun, there is beauty there. . ." A young girl, in a broad-brimmed straw hat, with a rose-coloured parasol over her shoulder, made her appearance, at that moment, in the path along which the two friends were walking. " But what do I behold? Beauty is coming to meet us even here! The greeting of a humble artist to the enchanting Zoya!" — suddenly ex- claimed Shubin, with a theatrical flourish of his hat. ^The scornful Great Russian name for the Little Russian. — Translator. 19 / ON THE EVE The young girl to whom this exclamation was addressed shook her finger at him, and allowing the two friends to approach her, she said, in a ring- ing voice, with the merest suggestion of a lisp: " Why don't you come to dinner, gentlemen? The table is set." " What do I hear? " said Shiibin, clasping his hands. — " Is it possible that you, charming Zoya, have brought yourself to come in search of us, in this heat? Is that how I am to construe the meaning of your speech ? Tell me, can it be ? Or no, do not utter that word: repentance will kill me on the spot." " Akh, do stop, Pavel Yakovlevitch," — re- turned the young girl, not without vexation: — " why do you never speak seriously to me? I shall get angry," — she added, with a coquettish shrug of the shoulders and a pout. " You will not be angry with me, my ideal Zoya Nikitishna : you will not wish to plunge me into the abyss of wild despair. But I do not know how to talk seriously, because I am not a serious man." The girl shrugged her shoulders, and turned to BersenefF. " He is always like that: he treats me like a child ; and I am already over eighteen years old. I 'm grown up." " O heavens! " — moaned Shubin, and rolled up his eyes ; but BersenefF laughed noiselessly. 20 ON THE EVE The girl stamped her little foot. " Pavel Yakovlevitch ! I shall get angry ! He- lene started to come with me," — she went on, — " but stopped behind in the garden. The heat frightened her, but I 'm not afraid of heat. Let us go." She set out along the path, lightly swaying her slender iigure at every step, and tossing back from her face, with her pretty little hand covered with a black mitt, the long, soft locks of her hair. The friends followed her ( Shiibin now silently pressed his hands to his heart, again he raised them above his head ) , and, a few moments later, they found themselves in front of one of the nu- merous suburban villas which surround Kiin- tzovo. A small wooden house, with a partial sec- ond storey, painted pink, stood amid a garden, and peeped forth from among the verdure of the trees in a naive sort of way. Zoya was the first to open the wicket-gate, run into the garden, and cry out: "I have brought the wanderers!" A young girl, with a pale and expressive face, rose from a bench beside the path, and on the thresh- old of the house a lady in a lilac-silk gown made her appearance, and, raising an embroidered ba- tiste handkerchief above her head to protect it from the sun, she smiled languidly and indo- lently. 21 Ill Anna Vasilievna Stakhoff, born Shubin, had been left a full orphan at seven years of age, and heiress to a fairly large property. She had rela- tives who were very wealthy, and relatives who were very poor; the poor ones on her father's side, the wealthy ones on her mother's: Senator Bolgin, the Princess Tchikurasoff . Prince Ar- dalion Tchikurasoff, who was appointed as her guardian, placed her in the best boarding-school in Moscow, and when she left school took her into his own house. He lived in handsome style, and gave balls in the winter. Anna Vasilievna's future husband, Nikolai Artemievitch Stakhoff, won her at one of these balls, where she wore " a charming pink gown, with a head-dress of tiny roses." She preserved that head-dress. . . . Ni- kolai Artemievitch Stakhoff, the son of a retired captain who had been wounded in the year 1812, and had received a lucrative post in Petersburg, had entered the military school at the age of six- teen, and graduated into the Guards. He was handsome, well built, and was considered about the best cavalier at evening parties of the middle class, which he chiefly frequented : he did not have access to fashionable society. Two dreams had 22 ON THE EVE occupied him from his youth up: to become an Imperial aide-de-camp and to make an advan- tageous marriage ; he speedily renounced the first dream, but clung all the more tenaciously to the second. As a result of this, he went to Mos- cow every winter. Nikolai Artemievitch spoke French very respectably, and had the reputation of being a philosopher, because he did not in- dulge in carouses. While he was still only an ensign, he had been fond of arguing obstinately on the question, for example, as to whether it is possible for a man, in the course of his whole life, to traverse the entire globe, and whether it is possible for him to know what goes on at the bottom of the sea — and he always maintained the opinion that it is not possible. Nikolai Artemievitch had passed his twenty- fifth birthday when he " hooked " Anna Vasi- lievna ; he resigned his commission, and retired to the country to engage in farming. Rural exis- tence soon palled on him, and the estate was on a quit-rent basis ;^ he settled in Moscow, in his wife's house. In his youth, he had never played at card-games, but now he became passionately fond of loto, and when that was prohibited, of whist. He was bored to death at home; he entered into relations with a widow of German extraction, 1 That is, the serfs paid an annual sum for the privilege of being released from agricultural labours for the master, and of earning their living in the towns, at any trade wherein they were skilled. — Trans- lator. 23 ON THE EVE and spent almost all his time at her house. In the summer of '53 he did not remove to Kiintzovo; he remained in Moscow, ostensibly with the ob- ject of taking a course of mineral waters; in reality, he did not wish to part from his widow. He did not talk much with her, however, but mostly argued as to whether the weather could be predicted, and so forth. Once, some one called him " a frondeur " ; this appellation pleased him greatly. " Yes," he thought, drawing down the corners of his lips in a self-satisfied way, and swaying to and fro, " I am not easily satisfied ; you can't cheat me." Nikolai Artemievitch's critical faculty consisted in this — ^that, for in- stance, when he heard the word "nerves,"he would say: " And what are nerves? " or some one would allude in his presence to the triumphs of astron- omy, and he would say: " And do you believe in astronomy? " But when he wished overwhelm- ingly to dumfound his antagonist, he said: " All that is mere phrases." It must be confessed that such retorts appeared (and still appear) to many persons irrefutable; but Nikolai Artemievitch had not even a suspicion that Augustina Chris- tianovna, in her letters to her cousin, called him " Mein Pinselchen." ^ Nikolai Artemievitch's wife, Anna Vasilievna, was a small, thin woman, with delicate features, inclined to emotion and melancholy. At board- ^ My simpleton. 24 ON THE EVE ing-school she had busied herself with music, and had read romances, then she had cast aside, all this ; she had begun to take pleasure in dress, and this taste had persisted; she had undertaken the education of her daughter, but had weakened, and given her over to the hands of a governess; and it ended in her doing nothing whatever, ex- cept grieving and indulging in gentle agitation. The birth of Elena Nikolaevna had shattered her health, and she was not able to have any more children; Nikolai Artemievitch was in the habit of alluding to this circumstance, by way of justi- fying his acquaintance with Augustina Chris- tianovna. Her husband's infidelity greatly em- bittered Anna Vasilievna; what particularly wounded her was that, one day, by a trick, he pre- sented his German with a pair of grey horses from her (Anna Vasilievna's) stud. She never reproached him to his face, but she complained of him, on the sly, to every one in the house in turn, even to her daughter. Anna Vasilievna was not fond of society; it pleased her to have a visitor sit with her, and narrate something; when left alone, she immediately fell ill. She had a very loving and tender heart : life speedily ground her between the millstones. Pavel Yakolevitch Shiibin was her grand- nephew. His father was in the government ser- vice in Moscow. His brothers had entered the cadet corps; he was the youngest, his mother's 25 ON THE EVE darling, of delicate constitution: he remained at home. He had been destined for the university, and had passed his examinations with difficulty. From his earliest years, he had begun to display an inclination for sculpture: ponderous Senator Bolgin one day saw a statuette of himself at his aunt's (the lad was sixteen years old at that time) , and declared that he intended to protect the youthful talent. The sudden death of Shubin's father came near changing the young man's whole future. The senator, the patron of talent, presented him with a plaster bust of Homer — and that was all ; but Anna Vasilievna aided him with money, and in a lame sort of fashion, at the age of nineteen, he entered the medical course of the university. Pavel felt no predilection for medicine, but, according to the distribution of the students which existed at that period, it was im- possible for him to enter any other course ; more- over, he hoped to study anatomy. But he did not study anatomy; he did not pass into the second year, and without waiting for the examinations, he left the university, to devote himself wholly to his vocation. He toiled zealously, but by fits and starts ; he roamed about the environs of Moscow ; he modelled and drew the portraits of peasant maidens; he entered into relations with various persons, young and old, of high and low degree, — ^with Italian model-makers and Russian artists ; he would not listen to the suggestion of the 26 ON THE EVE Academy, and recognised no professor. He pos- sessed decided talent: he began to be known in JVIoscow. His mother, a Parisian by birth, taught him French, bustled and worried about him day and night, was proud of him, and when she died of consumption, at an early age, she entreated Anna Vasilievna to take charge of him. He was then in his twenty-first year. Anna Vasilievna complied with her last wish: he occupied a small chamber in a wing of the house. 27 IV " Come, let us go to dinner," — said the mistress of the house, in a mournful voice, and all betook themselves to the dining-room. — " Sit next to me, Zoe," — said Anna Vasilievna; " and do thou, Helene, entertain our guest ; and please, Paul, do not play pranks and do not tease Zoe. I have a headache to-day." Again Shubin rolled his eyes heavenward; Zoe replied to him by a half -smile. This Zoe, or, to speak more accurately, Zoya Nikitishna Miiller, vi^as a pretty, little, slightly cross-eyed Russian German, with a little nose cleft at the tip, and tiny red lips, fair-haired and plump. She sang Russian romances far from badly, played neatly on the piano divers pieces, some- times merry, sometimes sentimental; she dressed with taste, but in a childish way, somehow, and too spotlessly. Anna Vasilievna had taken her as a companion for her daughter, but kept her al- most uninterruptedly by her own side. Elena made no complaint on this score: she positively did not know what to say to Zoya when she chanced to be left alone with her. The dinner lasted rather a long time; Berse- 28 ON THE EVE nefF chatted with Elena about university life, about his intentions and hopes. Shiibin listened, and maintained silence, eating with exaggerated avidity, and from time to time casting comical mournful glances at Zoya, who responded to him with the same phlegmatic smile as before. After dinner, Elena went into the garden with Berse- nefF and Shiibin; Zoya gazed after them, and slightly shrugging her shoulders, seated herself at the piano. Anna VasiHevna began to say: " Why don't you go for a walk also? " but with- out waiting for an answer, she added: " Play me something sad. ..." " La derniere pensee de Weber? " asked Zoya. " Akh, yes, Weber," — said Anna Vasilievna, dropping into an arm-chair, and a tear sprang to her eyelashes. Meanwhile, Elena had led the friends to an arbour of lilacs, with a small wooden table in the centre, and benches all round it. Shiibin cast a glance around, gave several little skips, and say- ing in a whisper, "Wait!" ran off to his own room, brought a lump of clay, and began to model a figure of Zoya, shaking his head, muttering, and laughing the while. " At your old tricks again," — remarked Elena, with a glance at his work, and turned to Berse- nefF, with whom she pursued the conversation which had been begun at dinner. "My old tricks!"— repeated Shiibin.— " The 29 ON THE EVE subject is downright inexhaustible! To-day, in particular, she drove me beyond patience." " Why so? " inquired Elena. — " One would think that you were talking about some mali- cious, disagreeable old hag. A pretty, young girl . . . ." " Of course,"— interrupted Shubin,— " she is pretty, very pretty ; I am convinced that any pas- ser-by, on glancing at her, is inevitably bound to think : ' There 's a girl with whom it would be pleasant to . . . dance a polka ; ' I am also con- vinced that she knows this, and that it is agree- able to her.— Why those bashful grimaces, that modesty? Come, you know very well what I mean to say," he added through his teeth. — " However, you are otherwise occupied at pres- ent." And, smashing Zoya's figure, Shubin set has- tily, and as though vexed, to moulding and knead- ing his clay. " And so, you would like to be a professor? " —Elena asked BersenefF. " Yes," rephed the latter, crushing his red hands between his knees. " That is my cherished dream. Of course, I am very well aware of everything wliich I lack to become worthy of so lofty .... I mean to say that I am too inade- quately prepared, but I hope to receive permis- sion to go abroad; I shall remain there three or four years, if necessary, and then " 30 ON THE EVE He paused, dropped his eyes, then suddenly raised them and, with an awkward smile, smoothed back his hair. When BersenefF talked with a woman, his speech became still more dehberate, and he lisped still more decidedly. " You wish to be a professor of history? "—in- quired Elena. " Yes, or of philosophy," — he added, lowering his voice,—" if that should prove to be possible." " He is already devilish strong in philosophy," — remarked Shubin, making deep lines with his finger-nail in the clay, — " so why should he go abroad? " " And shall you be perfectly satisfied with your position?" — asked Elena, resting her elbow on the table, and looking him straight in the face. " Perfectly, Elena Nikolaevna, perfectly. What profession can be better? Upon my word, to follow in the footsteps of Timofei Nikolae- vitch The mere thought of such a career fills me with joy and agitation, — yes, .... with agitation, which .... which springs from the consciousness of my own small powers. My deceased father gave me his blessing on that matter I shall never forget his last words." " Did your father die last winter? " " Yes, Elena Nikolaevna, in February." " They say,"— pursued Elena,—" that he left a remarkable work in manuscript: is that true? " 31 ON THE EVE " Yes, he did. He was a wonderful man. You would have loved him, Elena Nikolaevna." " I am convinced of that. And what are the contents of that work? " " It is somewhat difficult to convey to you the contents of the work in a few words, Elena Niko- laevna. My father was a learned man, a Schel- lingist: he employed terms which are not always lucid. . . ." " Andrei Petrovitch," — Elena interrupted him, — " pardon my ignorance; but what does a Schel- lingist mean? " BersenefF smiled slightly. " A Schellingist signifies, a follower of Schel- ling, the German philosopher; and Schelling's doctrine consisted in " " Andrei Petrovitch ! " — suddenly exclaimed Shiibin: — "for God's sake! Thou dost not in- tend to deliver a lecture on Schelling to Elena Nikolaevna? Spare her!" " It is not a lecture at all," muttered Berse- nefF, and flushed crimson, — " I wanted . . . ." " And why not a lecture? " — interposed Elena; " you and I are greatly in need of a lecture, Pavel Yakovlevitch." Shiibin fixed his eyes on her, and suddenly burst out laughing. " What are you laughing at? " — she asked coldly and almost sharply. Shubin stopped short. 32 ON THE EVE *' Come now, don't get angry," — ^he said, after a pause. — " I beg your pardon. But really, what possesses you, — good gracious! — now, in such weather, under these trees, to discuss philosophy? Let us talk, rather, about nightingales, about roses, about youthful eyes and smiles." " Yes, and about French romances, and wo- man's fripperies," went on Elena. " And about fripperies, if you like," retorted Shubin, " if they are pretty." " Very well. But what if we do not care to talk about fripperies? You call yourself a free artist, why do you infringe upon the freedom of others ? And permit me to ask you, if that 's your way of thinking, why you attack Zoya ? It is par- ticularly convenient to discuss fripperies and roses with her." Shubin suddenly flared up, and half rose from the bench. — " Ah, you don't say so? " he began, in a nervous voice. — " I understand your hint; you are sending me off to her, Elena Nikolaevna. In other words, I am intruding here." " I had no thought of sending you away from here." " You mean to say," — went on Shubin testily, — " that I am not worthy of any other society, that I am a mate for her, that I am as empty and silly and shallow as that sickly-sweet little Ger- man? Is n't that so, madam? " Elena contracted her brows. — " You have not 33 ON THE EVE always expressed yourself about her in that man- ner, Pavel Yakovlevitch," she remarked. " Ah! reproach! reproach, now! " cried Shiibin. — " Well, yes, I do not conceal the fact, there was a moment — precisely that, one moment — when those fresh, commonplace little cheeks .... But if I wished to pay you back with reproach, and remind you .... Good-bye, madam," he suddenly added, — " I am on the point of talking at random." ^ And dealing a blow upon the clay, which he had moulded into the shape of a head, he rushed out of the arbour and went off to his own room. " A child," — remarked Elena, gazing after him. " An artist," said BerseneiF, with a gentle smile. — " All artists are like that. One must par- don them their caprices. That is their preroga- tive." " Yes," returned Elena, — " but, so far, Pavel has not established that prerogative for himself. What has he accomplished up to the present time? Give me your arm, and let us walk in the avenue. He disturbed us. We were talking about your father's writings." Berseneif gave Elena his arm, and went into the garden with her; but the conversation which had been begun, having been broken off too soon, was not renewed. Berseneff again began to set forth his views on the vocation of professor, on 34 ON THE EVE his future career. He moved quietly by Elena's side, stepped awkwardly, supported her arm clumsily, now and then jostled her with his shoulder, and never once looked at her; but his speech flowed lightly, if not quite freely, he ex- pressed himself simply and pertinently, and in his eyes, which roved slowly over the boles of the trees, over the sand of the path, over the grass, there beamed the quiet emotion of noble feelings, and in his tranquil voice there was audible the joy of a man who is conscious that he is successfully expressing himself to another person who is dear to him. Elena listened attentively to him, and, half turned toward him, never removed her eyes from his face, which had paled slightly, — from his eyes, which were friendly and gentle, although they avoided an encounter with her eyes. Her soul unclosed, and something tender, just, good, was poured into her heart, or sprang up within it. 35 Shubin did not leave his room until nightfall. It was already perfectly dark; the moon, not yet at the full, hung high in the heaven, the Milky Way gleamed white, and the stars had begun to stud the sky, when BersenefF, having taken his leave of Anna Vasilievna, Elena, and Zoya, went to his friend's door. He found it locked, and tapped. " Who 's there? " rang out Shiibin's voice. " I," — replied BerseneiF. " What dost thou want? " " Let me in, Pavel ; have done with thy ca- prices; art not thou ashamed of thyself? " " I 'm not capricious; I 'm asleep, and behold- ing Zoya in my dreams." " Stop that, please. Thou art not a child. Let me in. I must have a talk with thee." " Hast not thou talked enough already with Elena? " " Have done, have done with that; let me in! " Shubin replied by a feigned snore; BersenefF shrugged his shoulders, and went home. The night was warm, and, somehow, peculiarly quiet, as though everything round about were 36 ON THE EVE listening and watching; and Berseneff, envel- oped by the motionless mist, involuntarily came to a halt, and began also to listen and watch. A faint murmur, like the rustle of a woman's gown, arose from time to time in the crests of the trees near by, and excited in Berseneff a sweet and painful sensation — a sensation of semi-alarm. Little shivers coursed down his cheeks, his ej^^es were chilled with quick-springing tears ; he would have liked to walk absolutely without noise, to hide himself, to steal along stealthily. A keen lit- tle breeze attacked him on the flank : he shivered slightly, and stood stock-still; a sleepy beetle tumbled from a bough and landed on the path with a clatter: Berseneff emitted a soft " Ah! " and again came to a halt. But he began to think of Elena, and all these transient sensations in- stantly vanished; only the vivifying impression of the nocturnal freshness, and the nocturnal stroll, and the image of the young girl absorbed his whole soul. Berseneff walked on with droop- ing head, and called to mind her words, her ques- tions. It seemed to him that he heard the tread of rapid footsteps behind him. He listened in- tently : some one was running, some one was pur- suing him; the panting breath was audible, and all at once, out of the black circle of shadow cast by a huge tree, Shiibin popped up in front of him, with no hat upon his dishevelled hair, and ghastly pale in the moonlight. 37 ON THE EVE " I am glad thou hast taken this path," he ar- ticulated with difficulty; " I should not have slept all night if I had not overtaken thee. Give me thine arm. Thou art on thy way home, I sup- pose? " " Yes." " I will accompany thee." But how wilt thou go without thy hat? " Never mind about that. I have taken oiF my neckcloth also. It is warm now." The friends advanced a few paces. *' I was very foolish to-day, was n't I? " asked Shubin suddenly. " To speak frankly, yes. I could not under- stand thee. I have never seen thee like that. And what was it that angered thee, pray? A few trifles!" "H'm!" muttered Shubin. — "What a way thou hast of expressing thyself ! — but I am in no mood for trifles. Seest thou," he added, — " I am bound to inform thee, that I . . . . that .... Think of me what thou wilt .... I ... . well, here goes! I am in love with Elena! " "Thou art in love with Elena!" — repeated Berseneff, and stopped short. " Yes," went on Shubin, with forced careless- ness. — " Does that surprise thee? I will tell thee more. Until this evening I was able to hope that, in course of time, she would come to love me. . . . But to-day I have become convinced 38 ON THE EVE that I have nothing to hope for, — she has fallen in love with some one else." *' With some one else? With whom, then? " " With whom? With thee! " cried Shiibin, and slapped Berseneff on the shoulder. "With me!" " With thee," — repeated Shubin. Berseneff fell back a pace, and stood stock- still. Shubin gazed keenly at him. "And does that surprise thee? Thou art a modest youth. But she does love thee. . . . Thou mayest rest at ease on that score." " What nonsense thou art chattering! " ejacu- lated Berseneff, at last, with vexation. " No, it is n't nonsense. But why are we stand- ing here? Let 's go on. It 's easier when we are walking. I have known her for a long time, and I know her well. I cannot be mistaken. Thou art after her own heart. There was a time when she liked me: but, in the first place, I am too frivolous a young man for her, while thou art a serious being, thou art a morally and physically clean individual, thou .... Stay, I am not through. . . Thou art a conscientious enthusiast, a genuine representative of those priests of science, of which, — no, not of which, — of whom, — of whom the middle-class Russian gentry are so justly proud. And, in the second place, the other day, Elena caught me kissing Zoya's arms! " "Zoya's?" 89 ON THE EVE <( Yes, Zoya's. What wouldst thou have me do? She has such fine shoulders." " Shoulders? " " Why, yes, shoulders — arms — is n't it all the same? Elena caught me in the midst of these fa- miliar occupations after dinner, while before din- ner I had been objurgating Zoya in her presence. Elena, unfortunately, does not understand how perfectly natural such contradictions are. Then tliou didst turn up : thou art a believer . . . what the deuce is it that thou believest in? . . . thou art eloquent, thou blushest, thou growest con- fused, thou grievest over Schiller, over Schelling (and she is always hunting up distinguished per- sons), and so thou hast carried off the victory, while unhappy I endeavour to jest . . . and . . . nevertheless ..." Shubin suddenly burst into tears, stepped aside, sat down on the ground, and clutched himself by the hair. Berseneff went up to him. " Pavel," — he began, — " what childishness is this? Good gracious! What is the matter with thee to-day? God knows what nonsense thou hast taken into thy head. And thou art weeping ! Really, it seems to me that thou art pretending." Shubin raised his head. The tears glistened on his cheeks in the moonlight, but his face was smiling. " Andrei Petrovitch," — ^he said, — " thou may- 40 ON THE EVE est think of me what thou wilt. I am even ready- to admit that I have a fit of hysterics at the pres- ent moment ; but God is my witness that I am in love with Elena, and that Elena loves thee. How- ever, I promised to escort thee home, and I will keep my word." He rose. " What a night ! silvery, dark, young ! How fine it is now for those who are in love! How delightful they find it not to sleep! Shalt thou sleep, Andrei Petrovitch? " BersenefF made no reply, and accelerated his gait. " Why art thou in such a hurry? " — went on Shubin. — " Trust my words, such a night will never be repeated in thy life. But Schelling awaits thee at home. He has done thee a service to-day, 't is true ; but do not hasten, nevertheless. Sing, if thou knowest how,— sing still more loudly; if thou dost not know how — take off thy hat, throw back thy head, and smile at the stars. They are all gazing at thee — at thee alone: the stars do nothing else but gaze at people who are in love, — that is why they are so charming. Thou art in love, art thou not, Andrei Petrovitch ? . . . Thou dost not answer me. . . . Why dost thou not answer? " — began Shubin again. — " Oh, if thou feelest thyself happy, hold thy peace, hold thy peace! I chatter, because I am an unlucky wretch, I am not beloved; I am a juggler, an artist, a 41 ON THE EVE buffoon; but what wordless raptures would not I quaff in these nocturnal streams of light, be- neath these stars, beneath these brilliants, if I knew that I were loved? .... Berseneff, art thou happy? " Berseneff remained silent, as before, and strode swiftly along the level road. Aliead, among the trees, the lights of the hamlet in which he lived began to twinkle; it consisted of half a score, in all, of small villas. At its very beginning, on the right of the road, beneath two wide-spreading birch-trees, was a tiny shop ; all its windows were already closed, but a broad streak of light fell in fan-shape from the open door, upon the tram- pled grass, and surged upward upon the trees, sharply illuminating the whitish under side of their dense foliage. A young girl, a lady's maid, to all appearance, was standing in the shop, with her back to the road, and bargaining with the shopkeeper : from beneath the red kerchief, which she had thrown over her head, and held fast under her chin with her bare hand, her plump cheek and slender neck were just visible. The young men stepped into the band of light, Shubin glanced at the interior of the shop, halted, and, exclaimed: "Annushka!" The young girl turned briskly round. A pretty, rather broad, but rosy face, with merry brown eyes and black brows, was revealed. — "Annushka!" — repeated Shubin. The girl looked at him, took fright, 42 ON THE EVE grew abashed — and without finishing her pur- chase, descended the steps, slipped hastily past, and with hardly a glance behind her walked down the road to the left. The shopkeeper, a corpulent man and indifferent to everything in the world, like all suburban shopkeepers, grunted and yawned after her, while Shubin turned to Ber- senefF with the words: " That . . that . . thou seest .... I am acquainted with a family here . . . thou must not think. . . ." and without finishing his speech, he ran after the retreating girl. " Wipe away thy tears, at least," — shouted BersenefF after him, and could not refrain from laughing. But when he reached home, the ex- pression of his face was not merry; he was no longer laughing. Not for one moment did he believe what Shubin had said to him, but the words he had uttered had sunk deep into his soul. " Pavel was making a fool of me," — he thought ..." but when she does fall in love . . . whom will she love? " A piano stood in Berseneff 's room, small and not new, but with a soft and agreeable, although not quite pure tone. BersenefF sat down at it, and began to strike chords. Like all Russian nobles, he had studied music in his childhood, and, like almost all Russian nobles, he played very badly; but he was passionately fond of mu- sic. Properly speaking, what he loved in it was 43 ON THE EVE not the art, nor the forms wherewith it expresses itself (symphonies and sonatas, even operas, made him low-spirited), but its poetry: he loved those sweet and troubled, aimless and all-embrac- ing emotions which are evoked in the soul by blending and the shifting successions of sounds. For more than an hour he did not leave the piano, repeating the same chords over and over many times, awkwardly seeking new ones, pausing and allowing the sounds to die away on diminished sevenths. His heart ached within him, and his eyes were more than once suffused with tears. He was not ashamed of them; he was shedding them in the dark. " Pavel is right," he thought; "I have a presentiment that he is right: this evening will not be repeated." At last he rose, lighted a candle, donned his dressing-gown, took from its shelf the second volume of Raumer's " History of the Hohenstaufens," — and heaving a sigh or two, began to read diligently. 44 VI In the meantime, Elena had returned to her own chamber, seated herself in front of the open win- dow, and leaned her head on her hand. It had become her habit to spend a quarter of an hour every evening at the window of her chamber. During that time, she held converse with herself, rendered herself an account of the day that was past. She had recently celebrated her twentieth birthday. She was tall of stature, had a pale and dark-skinned face, large grey eyes under arched brows, surrounded with tiny freckles, a perfectly regular brow and nose, a tightly compressed mouth, and a decidedly pointed chin. The braids of her dark-chestnut hair hung low on her slender neck. In the whole of her being, in the expres- sion of her face, which was attentive and some- what timid, in her mutable glance, in her smile, which seemed strained, in her soft and uneven voice, there was something nervous, electrical, something impulsive and precipitate, — in a word, something which could not please every one, which even repelled some people. Her hands were nar- row, rosy, with long fingers; her feet also were narrow; she walked rapidly, almost impetuously, 45 ON THE EVE with her body slightly bent forward. She had grown up very strangely; at first she had wor- shipped her father, then she had become passion- ately attached to her mother, and had cooled toward both of them, especially toward her father. Of late, she had treated her mother like an ail- ing grandmother; and her father, who had been proud of her, as long as she had possessed the reputation of being a remarkable child, began to be afraid of her when she grew up, and said of her, that she was some sort of an enthusiastic republican, God knows whom she took after! Weakness agitated her, stupidity angered her, a lie she never forgave " unto ages of ages " ;^ her demands made no concessions to anything what- ever, her very prayers were often mingled with reproach. A person had but to lose her respect, — and she promptly pronounced judgment, often too promptly, — and he forthwith ceased to exist for her. All impressions took deep root in her soul : she did not take life easily. The governess to whom Anna Vasilievna had entrusted the task of finishing her daughter's education, — an education, we may remark in parenthesis, which had never even been begun by the bored young lady — was a Russian, the daughter of a ruined bribe-taker, graduate of a Government Institute, a very sentimental, ami- ^The equivalent, in the Eastern Church, of "for ever and ever."— Thanslator. 46 ON THE EVE able, and deceitful creature ; she was forever fall- ing in love, and ended by marrying, in her fiftieth year (when Elena had already passed her seven- teenth birthday), some officer or other who im- mediately abandoned her. This governess had been very fond of literature, and was herself in the habit of scribbling bad verses; she imbued Elena with a taste for reading, but reading alone did not satisfy the girl; from her childhood up, she had thirsted for activity, for active good : the poor, the hungry, the sick, interested her, dis- turbed, tortured her ; she saw them in her dreams, she questioned all her acquaintances about them; she bestowed alms carefully, with an involuntary air of gravity, almost with emotion. All op- pressed animals, — gaunt watch-dogs, kittens con- demned to death, sparrows which had tumbled out of the nest, even insects and reptiles found a protector and defender in Elena; she tended them herself, she did not despise them. Her mother did not interfere with her; on the other hand, her father was very much incensed with his daughter for her vulgar coddling, as he called it, and declared that one could not take a step in the house without treading on a dog or a cat. " Le- notchka,"— he would shout at her, " come hither, make haste, a spider is sucking a fly, release the unhappy victim! " And Lenotchka, all in a flut- ter would run to him, release the fly, and separate its legs which were stuck together. " Come, now, 47 ON THE EVE let it bite thee, if thou art so kind," remarked her father ironically; but she paid no heed to him. At the age of ten, Elena made acquaintance with a poor little girl, Katya, and was in the habit of going in secret to meet her in the garden. She carried her dainties, made her presents of ker- chiefs, and ten-kopek coins — Katya accepted no toys. She sat down beside her on the dry earth, in the thicket, behind a clump of nettles; with a sensation of joyous humility she ate her black bread, listened to her stories. Katya had an aunt, an ill-tempered old woman, who frequently beat her; Katya hated her, and was always talking about running away from her aunt, and of how she would live entirely free from all restraint. With secret reverence and terror, Elena listened to these new, unfamiliar words, stared attentively at Katya, and at such times everything about her — her black, quick eyes, almost like those of a wild beast, her sunburned arms, her dull little voice, even her tattered clothing — seemed to Elena to be something peculiar, almost holy. Elena would return home, and for a long time thereafter think about the poor, about God's will ; she thought of how she would cut herself a staff from a nut- tree, throw a beggar's wallet over her shoulder, and run off with Katya; how she would roam about the highways in a wreath of corn-flowers: she had once seen Katya with such a wreath. If one of her relatives entered the room at that 48 ON THE EVE moment, she became shy, and looked queer. One day, she ran through the rain to her rendezvous with Katya, and splashed her frock; her father caught sight of her and called her a slut, a little peasant. She flushed crimson all over, and had a terrible and wonderful sensation at her heart. Katya often hummed some half -barbarous, sol- diers' ditty; Elena learned the song from her .... Anna Vasilievna overheard her, and flew into a rage. " Where hast thou picked up that abomina- tion?" — she asked her daughter. Elena merely stared at her mother, and said not a word : she felt that she would sooner allow herself to be rent in pieces than to betray her secret, and again she had a sweet and terrified feeling in her heart. How- ever, her acquaintance with Katya did not last long: the poor little girl fell ill of a fever, and died a few days later. Elena grieved greatly, and it was long before she could get to sleep at night after she heard of Katya's death. The last words of the little beg- gar child rang incessantly in her ears, and it seemed to her that they were calling her. . . . But the years followed years ; swiftly and inau- dibly, like the waters beneath the snows, Elena's youth flowed past in outward idleness, in in- ward strife and unrest. She had no friends: she did not become intimate with a single one of the young girls who visited the Stakliofl's' house. 49 ON THE EVE Parental authority never weighed heavily upon Elena, and at the age of sixteen she became almost entirely independent; she lived her own life, but a lonely life. Her soul burned and expired alone, she beat her wings like a bird in a cage, but there was no cage: no one checked her, no one re- strained her, yet she was restless and pined. Sometimes she did not understand herself, she was even afraid of herself. Everything around her seemed to her either senseless or incompre- hensible. " How can one live without love? but there is no one to love! " she thought, and fear fell upon her at that thought, at those sensations. At eighteen, she came near dying of a malignant fever. Shaken to the very foundations, her whole organism, strong and healthy by nature, was un- able, for a long time, to recover itself; the last traces of illness disappeared, at last, but Elena Nikolaevna's father still talked, not without wrath, about her nerves. Sometimes she took it into her head that she wanted something which no one, in the whole of Russia, wishes, thinks of. Then she calmed down, even laughed at herself, spent day after day in careless unconcern; but suddenly something powerful, nameless, which she was not able to control, fairly seethed up within her, and demanded to burst its way out. The tempest passed over, the weary wings, which had not soared, drooped; but these fits left their mark upon her. Try as she would not to betray 50 ON THE EVE what was taking place within her, the sadness of her agitated soul was revealed in her very external composure, and her relatives often had a right to shrug their shoulders, to marvel, and to fail to comprehend her " peculiarities." On the day upon which our story began, Elena did not leave her window until long after her ac- customed time. She thought a great deal about BersenefF, about her conversation with him. She liked him ; she had faith in the warmth of his feel- ings, in the purity of his intentions. Never be- fore had he talked with her as on that evening. She recalled the expression of his bold eyes, of his smile — and smiled herself, and fell into rev- erie, but it was no longer about him. She set to gazing out into " the night " through the open window. For a long time she gazed at the dark, low-hanging heaven; then she rose, with a ges- ture tossed the hair back from her face, and, without herself knowing why, she stretched out, toward that heaven, her bare, cold arms ; then she dropped them, knelt down before her bed, pressed her face to her pillow, and in spite of all her efforts not to yield to the feeling which was sweeping in upon her, she fell to weeping with strange, amazed, but burning tears. 51 VII On the following day, at twelve o'clock, Berse- neiF set out for Moscow with a cabman who was returning thither. He had to get some money from the post-office to purchase certain books, and he wished, incidentally, to see InsarofF and have a conference with him. The idea had oc- curred to Berseneff, during his last chat with Shiibin, to invite InsarofF to visit him at the villa. But he did not speedily find him: he had re- moved from his former lodgings to other quar- ters, which v/ere awkward to reach. They were situated in the rear courtyard of a hideous stone house, built in the Petersburg style, between Arbat Square and Povarskaya Street. In vain did BersenefF wander from one dirty entrance to another, in vain did he call out now to the yard- porter, now to " somebody." Even in Peters- burg the yard-porters endeavour to avoid the gaze of visitors, and much more so in Moscow : no one answered BersenefF's shouts: only a curious tailor, in nothing but his waistcoat, and with a skein of grey thread on his shoulder, silently thrust through the hinged pane of a window high up his dull and unshaven face, with black, bruised 52 ON THE EVE eyes, and a black, hornless goat, which had climbed upon a dung-heap turned round, bleated pitifully, and began to chew its cud more briskly than before. A woman in an old sleeved cloak and patched shoes took pity, at last, upon Berse- neiF, and pointed out to him InsarofF's lodgings. BersenefF found him at home. He had hired a chamber from the very tailor who had gazed so indifferently from the hinged pane at the embar- rassment of the straying man, — a large, almost perfectly bare chamber, with dark-green walls, three square windows, a tiny bed in one corner, a leather-covered couch in another, and a huge cage suspended close to the ceiling; in this cage a nightingale had once lived. Insaroff advanced to meet Berseneff as soon as the latter crossed the threshold, but did not exclaim, " Ah, is that you!" or, " Akh, my God! what brings you here? " He did not even say, " Good-morning," but simply shook him by the hand, and led him to the only chair in the room. " Sit down," — he said, and seated himself on the edge of the table. " Things are still in disorder with me, as you see," — added Insaroff, pointing at a pile of pa- pers and books on the floor; " I have not yet in- stalled myself properly. I have not had time as yet." Insaroff spoke Russian with perfect correct- ness, pronouncing each word strongly and 53 ON THE EVE clearly; but his guttural, though agreeable voice had a certain ring which was not Russian. In- saroff's foreign extraction (he was a Bulgarian by birth) was still more plainly apparent in his personal appearance: he was a young man five- and-twenty years of age, thin and wiry, with a hollow chest and angular arms ; he had sharp fea- tures, a nose with a hump, bluish-black straight hair, a small forehead, small deep-set eyes with an intent gaze, and thick eyebrows; when he smiled, very handsome white teeth made their ap- pearance for an instant from beneath thick, harsh, too clearly outlined lips. He was dressed in an old but neat frock-coat, buttoned to the chin. " Why have you removed from your former lodging? " — BersenefF asked him. " This one is cheaper; it is nearer the univer- sity." " But it is vacation-time now . . . And what possesses you to live in town during the summer? You ought to have hired a villa, if you had made up your mind to move." InsarofF made no reply to this remark, and offered Berseneff a pipe, with the words: " Ex- cuse me, I have no cigarettes or cigars." Berseneff lighted the pipe. " Now I," he went on, — " have hired a little house near Kuntzovo. It is very cheap, and very convenient. So that there is even an extra room up-stairs." 54 ON THE EVE Again InsarofF made no reply. Berseneff stretched himself. " I have even been thinking," — he began again, emitting the smoke in a thin stream, — " that if, for example, I were to find any one . . . you, for example, — that is what I was thinking .... who would like .... who would consent to install himself up-stairs in my house .... how nice it would be ! What do you think of it, Dmi- try Nikanoritch? " InsarofF turned his small eyes on him. — " Are you proposing that I should live with you in your villa? " " Yes; I have an extra chamber up-stairs." " I am very much obliged to you, Andrei Pe- trovitch; but I do not think that my means will permit me to do it." " What do you mean by that? " " They will not permit me to live in a villa. I cannot afford two sets of lodgings." " Why, but I . . . " Berseneff began, then paused. — " You would not be at any extra ex- pense," — he went on. — " Your present lodgings could be retained for you, let us assume; on the other hand, everything is very cheap there; we might even arrange, for example, to dine to- gether." InsarofF maintained silence, Berseneff felt awkward. " At all events, come and visit me sometime,* 55 it ON THE EVE he began, after waiting a while. — " A couple of steps from me lives a family with whom I am very anxious to make you acquainted. If you only knew, InsarofF, what a splendid young girl there is there ! One of my most intimate friends lives there also, a man of great talent ; I am con- vinced that you will take to him." (A Russian loves to stand treat — if with nothing else, then with his acquaintances. ) — " Really, now, do come. But, better still, come and live with us, — really you ought. We might work together, read . . . you know, I am busying myself with history and philosophy. You are interested in all that. I have a great manj^ books." Insaroff rose and paced the room. — " Allow me to inquire," — he asked at last, — " how much you pay for your villa? " " One hundred rubles." *' And how many rooms has it? " " Five." " Consequently, by computation, one room would cost twenty rubles? " "Yes. . . But, good gracious! I don't need it at all. It is simply standing empty." "Possibly; but listen," — added Insaroif with a decided but, at the same time, ingenuous move- ment of the head:—" I can accept your propo- sition only in case you will consent to take the money from me according to the computation. I am able to give twenty rubles, the more so as, 56 ON THE EVE according to your words, I shall be effecting an economy on everything else there." " Of course ; but, really, I am ashamed to do it." " It cannot be done otherwise, Andrei Petro- vitch." "Well, as you like; only, what an obstinate fellow you are! " Again Insaroff said nothing. The young men came to an agreement as to the day on which Insaroff was to move. They called the landlord, but first he sent his daughter, a a little girl seven years of age, with a huge, mot- ley-hued kerchief on her head; she listened with attention, almost in affright, to everything In- saroff said to her, and silently went away; after her, her mother, who was near her confinement, made her appearance, also with a kerchief on her head, only it was tiny. Insaroff explained to her that he was going to move to a country villa near Kuntzovo, but retained the lodging, and en- trusted all his things to her ; the tailor's wife also seemed to take fright, and retired. Finally, the master of the house came; at first, he seemed to understand all about it, and only remarked thoughtfully: " Near Kuntzovo? " but then sud- denly flung open the door, and shouted, " Are the lodgings to be kept for you, pray? " Insaroff soothed him. " Because, I must know," repeated the tailor gruffly, and disappeared. 57 ON THE EVE BersenefF went his way, very much pleased with the success of his proposition. Insaroff escorted him to the door, with an amiable cour- tesy which is not much in use in Russia ; and when he was left alone, he carefully removed his coat, and busied himself with putting his papers in order. 58 VIII On the evening of that same day, Anna Vasi- lievna was sitting in her drawing-room, and pre- paring to weep. Besides herself, there were in the room her husband and a certain Uvar Ivano- vitch StakhoiF, Nicolai Artemievitch's great- uncle, a cornet on the retired list, aged sixty, a man obese to the point of being unable to move, with small, sleepy, yellow eyes, and thick, colour- less lips in a bloated yellow face. Ever since his retirement from the army, he had lived uninter- ruptedly in Moscow on the interest from a small capital which had been bequeathed to him by his wife, a member of the merchant class. He did nothing, and it is hardly probable that he thought ; but if he did think, he kept his thoughts to him- self. Only once in the course of his life had he become excited and displayed activity, namely: when he read in the newspapers about a new in- strument at the London International Expo- sition: a " controbombardon," and wanted to im- port that instrument, and even inquired where he was to send the money, and through what office. Uvar Ivanovitch wore a capacious sack- coat, snuff -brown in hue, and a white necker- 59 ON THE EVE chief, ate much and often, and only in embar- rassing circumstances, — that is to say, on every occasion when it behooved him to express any opinion, — did he wiggle the fingers of his right hand convulsively in the air, beginning first with the thumb and running to the little finger, then beginning with the little finger and ending with the thumb, with difficulty articulating: " It ought . . . somehow, you know ..." Uvar Ivanovitch was seated in an arm-chair by the window and breathing hard, Nikolai Ar- temievitch was pacing up and down the room with great strides, with his hands thrust into his pockets: his face expressed displeasure. He came to a halt, at last, and shook his head. — " Yes," — he began, — " in our day, young peo- ple were brought up diff'erently. Young people did not permit themselves to be lacking in respect for their elders." (He pronounced the ma'n} through his nose, in French fashion. ) " But now, all I can do is to look on and marvel. Perhaps I am not right, and they are ; but I was not a born dolt. What do you think about it, Uvar Ivano- vitch?" Uvar Ivanovitch merely stared at him, and twiddled his fingers. " There is Elena Nikolaevna, for instance," — pursued Nikolai Artemievitch — " I don't under- stand Elena Nikolaevna, really I don't. I 'm not ^ Manktrovat, to be lacking in respect.— Tea nslatob, CO ON^ THE EVE sufficiently lofty for her. Her heart is so capa- cious that it embraces all nature, down to the very tiniest cockroach or frog, — in a word, every- thing, with the exception of her father. Well, very good ; I know it, and I don't meddle. For it is a question of nerves, and learning, and soar- ing heavenward, and all that is not in our line. But Mr. Shiibin ... let us assume that he is an artist, a wonderful, remarkable artist, I do not dispute that; but for him to be lacking in respect toward his elder, toward a man to whom, nevertheless, he may be said to owe a great deal, — that is what I, I must confess, dans mon gros hon sens^ cannot allow. I am not exacting by nature, no, but there is a limit to all things." Anna Vasilievna rang the bell in an agitated manner. A page entered. "Why does not Pavel Yakovlevitch come?" she said. "Why cannot I get him to come?" Nikolai Artemievitch shrugged his shoulders. — " But why, for goodness sake, do you want to summon him ? I am not demanding it in the least, I do not even desire it. " ^Vhy do you ask the reason, Nikolai Artemie- vitch? He has disturbed you; perhaps he has in- terfered with your course of treatment. I want to call him to account. I want to know in what way he has angered you." " I tell you again that I do not demand it. 61 ON THE EVE And what possesses you . . . devant les domes- tiques . . . .'* Anna Vasilievna blushed slightly.—" There is no need of your saying that, Nikolai Artemie- vitch. I never . . . devant . ... les domes- tiques . . . Go away, Fediushka, and see that thou bringest Pavel Yakovlevitch hither imme- diately." The page left the room. " But that is not in the least necessary," — muttered Nikolai Artemievitch between his teeth, and again he began to stride up and down the room. " I had not that in view at all, when I started the subject." " Mercy me ! Paul ought to apologise to you." *' Good heavens! What do I want of his apol- ogies? And what are apologies? Mere phrases." " What do you mean by not wanting him to apologise? He must be brought to his senses." " Bring him to his senses yourself. He will listen to you more readily than to me. But I make no charges against him." " Really, Nikolai Artemievitch, you have been out of humour ever since your arrival to-day. I have even seen you growing thin before my very eyes. I 'm afraid your course of treatment is not helping you." " My course of treatment is indispensable to me," — remarked Nikolai Artemievitch; "my liver is out of order." 62 ON THE EVE At that moment, Shubin entered. He seemed weary. A slight, almost mocking smile played about his lips. " You sent for me, Anna Vasilievna? " — ^he said. " Yes, of course I sent for thee. Good hea- vens ! Paul, this is terrible. I am very much dis- pleased with thee. How canst thou be lacking in respect to Nikolai Artemievitch ? " " Has Nikolai Artemievitch been complaining to you about me? " — asked Shubin, and glanced at StakhofF, with the same mocking smile on his lips. The latter turned away and dropped his eyes. " Yes, he has. I do not know how thou art to blame toward him, but thou must apologise in- stantly, because his health is very much shaken at present; and, in short, we are all bound, in our youth, to respect our benefactors." "Ekli, is that logic?" thought Shubin, and turned to Stakhoff. — " I am ready to apologise to you, Nikolai Artemievitch," he said with a courteous half -bow, " if I really have offended you in any way." " I did n't in the least . . . mean it that way," — returned Nikolai Artemievitch, as before avoiding Shubin's eyes.—" However, I willingly pardon you, because, you know, I am not an ex- acting man." " Oh, there is not the slightest doubt about 63 ON THE EVE that!" — said Shubin. "But permit me to in- quire whether Anna Vasilievna is acquainted with the precise nature of my offence? " " No, I know nothing," — remarked Anna Vasi- lievna, and stretched out her neck. "Oh, gracious heavens!" — exclaimed Nikolai Artemievitch hastily: — " how many times already have I begged and entreated, how many times have I said how repugnant to me are all these ex- planations and scenes ! When a man comes home once in an age, he wants to rest, — I tell you, in the domestic circle, interieur^ he wants to be a family man; — but there are scenes, unpleasant- nesses. There 's not a minute's peace. One is forced to go to the club . . or somewhere . . against his will. The man is alive, he has a phys- ical side, it has its demands, but here . . . ." And without completing the phrase he had be- gun, Nikolai Artemievitch swiftly quitted the room and banged the door. Anna Vasilievna gazed after him. — " To the club? " — she whis- pered bitterly: — " You are not going to the club, giddypate ! There is no one at the club to whom you can give horses from my stud-farm — and grey ones, at that! My favourite colour. Yes, yes, a light-minded man!"— she added, raising her voice: — " You are not going to the club. As for thee, Paul,"— she continued, as she rose,— " art not thou ashamed of thyself? Thou art not a child, I think. There now, I have a 64 ON THE EVE headache coming on. Where is Zoya, dost thou know? " " I think she is up-stairs, in her own room. That sagacious Httle fox always hides herself in her own den in such weather as this." " Come now, please, please stop that I " — Anna Vasilievna fumbled about her. "Hast thou seen my wine-glass of grated horse- radish? Paul, please do not anger me in future." " Why should I anger you, Aunty? Let me kiss your hand. And I saw your horse-radish on a little table in the boudoir." " Darya is forever forgetting it somewhere or other," — said Anna Vasilievna, and went away, rustling her silk gown. Shubin started to follow her, but paused on hearing behind him the deliberate voice of Uvar Ivanovitch. " Thou didst not get .... what thou hast deserved .... puppy," — said the retired cor- net, with stops and pauses. Shubin stepped up to him. — *' And for what ought I to have been punished, laudable Uvar Ivanovitch? " "For what? Thou art young, therefore re- spect. Yes." " Whom? " "Whom? Thou knowest well whom. Grin away." Shubin folded his arms on his chest. 65 ON THE EVE " Akh, you representative of primitive, uni- versal principle," — ^he exclaimed, — " you black- earth force, you foundation of the social edifice! " Uvar Ivanovitch wiggled his fingers. — "Enough, my good fellow; don't try my pa- tience." " Here you have a nobleman who is not young, apparently," — went on Shiibin, — " yet how much happy, childish faith still lies smouldering within him! Revere him! But do you know, you ele- mental man, why Nikolai Artemievitch is wroth with me? You see, I spent the whole morning, to-day, with him, at his German woman's; you see, we sang a trio to-day, * Leave me not ' ; you just ought to have heard it. That would affect you, I think. We sang, my dear sir, we sang — well, and I got bored ; I saw that things were not as they should be; there was a lot of tenderness. I began to tease them both. It turned out finely. First she got angry with me ; then with him ; then he got furious with her, and told her that he was happy nowhere but at home, and that he had a paradise there ; and I said to her : ' Ach ! ' German fashion ; he went away, and I remained ; he came hither, — to paradise, that is to say,— but paradise nauseates him. So he took to growling. Well, sir, and who is to blame now, in your opinion? " " Thou, of course," — replied Uvar Ivanovitch. Shiibin stared at him. — " May I make so bold as to ask you, respected knight-errant," — he be- 66 ON THE EVE gan, in an obsequious voice: — " whether it is your pleasure to utter those enigmatic words in con- sequence of some combination of your thinking faculties, or under the inspiration of the mo- mentary necessity to produce that vibration known as sound? " " Don't tempt me," — groaned Uvar Ivano- vitch. . . . Shiibin laughed, and ran out of the room. — " Hey, there," — shouted Uvar Ivanovitch, a quarter of an hour later: — " I say a glass of whiskey." The page brought the whiskey and a little solid refreshment on a tray. Uvar Ivanovitch softly took the wine-glass from the tray, and stared at it long and intently, as though he did not quite understand what sort of thing he had in his hand. Then he looked at the page and asked if his name were not Vaska. Then he assumed a pained expression, took a bite, and dived into his pocket for his handkerchief. But the page had long since carried off the tray and the carafe to their place, and had eaten the remains of the her- ring, and had already succeeded in falling asleep, leaning up against his master's overcoat, while Uvar Ivanovitch was still holding his hand- kerchief in front of his face with outspread fin- gers, and staring now out of the window, now at the floor and walls, with the same fixed attention. 67 IX Shubin returned to his own chamber in the wing and was about to open a book. Nikolai Artemie- vitch's valet cautiously entered the room and handed him a small, three-cornered note, the seal of which bore a large coat-of-arms. — " I hope," ran this note, " that you, as an honourable man, will not permit yourself to hint, by so much as a single word, at a certain note of hand which was discussed this morning. You know my relations and my principles, the insignificance of the sum itself, and other circumstances,— in short, there are family secrets which must be respected, and family peace is such a sacred thing, that only etres sans coeurs, among whom I have no reason to reckon you, repudiate them! (Return this note.) N. S." Shubin scrawled below it, with a pencil: *' Don't worry, I don't pick people's pockets of their handkerchiefs yet " ; returned the note to the valet, and again took up his book. But it soon slipped from his hands. He gazed at the crim- son sky, at two sturdy young pine-trees, which stood apart from the other trees, and thought: " Pine-trees are blue b}^ daylight, but how mag- 68 ON THE EVE nificently green they are in the evening," and be- took himself to the garden, in the secret hope of meeting Elena there. He was not disappointed. Ahead of him, on the path between the shrubs, her gown was fluttering. He overtook her, and as he came alongside, he said: " Don't glance in my direction, I am not worthy of it." She cast a fleeting glance at him, gave an eva- nescent smile, and pursued her way toward the depths of the garden. Shiibin followed her. " I request that you will not look at me," — he began — " yet I address you: a manifest con- tradiction! But that makes no difl'erence: it 's not the first time I 've done it. I just remem- bered that I had not yet asked your pardon, in proper form, for my stupid sally of yesterday. You are not angry with me, Elena Nikolaevna? " She paused, and did not answer him at once — not because she was angry, but her thoughts were far away. " No," — she said at last, — " I am not in the least angry." Shiibin bit his lip. " What an anxious . . . and what an indiff'er- ent face! " he murmured. — " Elena Nikolaevna," — he went on, raising his voice: — " permit me to narrate to you a little anecdote. I had a friend ; this friend also had a friend, who first behaved himself as an honest man should, and then took 69 ON THE EVE to drink. So, early one morning, my friend meets him on the street (and please to observe that they had ceased to know each other) — meets him, and perceives that he is drmik. My friend took and turned away from him. But the other man stepped up, and says : ' I would n't have been angry if you had not bowed, but why do you turn away ? Perhaps I do this from grief. Peace to my ashes! ' " Shubin relapsed into silence. " Is that all? "—asks Elena. " Yes." " I do not understand you. What are you hint- ing at? You just told me not to look in your direction." " Yes, but now I have told you how bad it is to turn away." " But did I . . . " Elena was beginning. "But did n't you?" Elena flushed faintly, and offered Shubin her hand. He pressed it firmly. " You seem to have caught me in ill-feeling," — said Elena, — " but your suspicion is unjust. I never even thought of avoiding you." " Let us admit that, let us admit it. But con- fess that at this moment you have in your head a thousand thoughts, not one of which you will con- fide to me. Well? am not I speaking the truth? " " Perhaps so. " "But why is it? Wliy?" 70 ON THE EVE " My thoughts are not clear to myself," — said Elena. " That is precisely the reason why you should confide them to another person," — interposed Shiibin. " But I will tell you what the matter is. You have a bad opinion of me." "I?" " Yes, you. You imagine that everything about me is half -spurious, because I am an artist ; that I not only am not capable of any business whatever, — as to that, you are, in all probability, quite right, — but even of any genuine, profound feeling ; that I cannot even weep sincerely, that I am a chatterbox and a scandal-monger, — all be- cause I am an artist. After that, are n't we un- fortunate, God-slain people? You, for example, whom I am ready to worship, do not believe in my repentance." " Yes, Pavel Yakovlevitch, I do believe in your repentance, I believe in your tears. But it seems to me, that your very repentance amuses you, and so do your tears." Shiibin shuddered. *' Well, as the doctors express it, I seem to be an incurable case, casus incur abilis. All that is left for me to do, is to bow my head and submit. But in the meantime, O Lord, can it be true, can it be that I am forever fretting over myself, when such a soul is living by my side? And to know, that one will never penetrate into that soul, 71 ON THE EVE will never find out, why it grieves, why it rejoices, what is fermenting within it, what it craves, whither it is going. . . . Tell me,"— he said, after a brief pause: — " would you never, for any consideration, under any circumstances whatever, fall in love with an artist? " Elena looked him straight in the eye. " I think not, Pavel Yakovlevitch ; no." *' Which remains to be demonstrated," — re- marked Shiibin, with comical dejection. — " After this, I assume that it would be more decent for me not to interfere with your solitary stroll. A professor would have asked you : ' But on the foundation of what data have you said no ? ' But I am not a professor, I am a child, according to your view; so remember, do not turn away from children. Farewell. Peace to my ashes!" Elena was on the point of detaining him, but changed her mind and said: — " Farewell." Shubin quitted the yard. At a short distance from the StakliofFs' villa Berseneff met him. He was walking with brisk strides, with bowed head, and his hat pushed back on his nape. "Andrei Petrovitch!" — shouted Shubin. The latter came to a halt. *' Go along, go along," — continued Shubin : — " I did it thoughtlessly, I will not detain thee, — and wend thy way straight to the garden; thou wilt find Elena there. — She is expecting thee, I think .... she is expecting some one, at any n ON THE EVE rate. . . . Dost thou understand the force of the words ' she is expecting ' ? And knowest thou, brother, one remarkable circumstance? Imag- ine, here I have been living in the same house with her for two years. I am in love with her, and yet it was only just now, a moment ago, that I have — not precisely understood but— seen her. I have seen her, and thrown apart my hands in de- spair. Don't look at me, please, with that falsely sarcastic grin, which is not very becoming to thy sedate features. Well, yes, I understand, thou wouldst remind me of Annushka. What of that? I don't deny it. Annushkas are mates for such fellows as I. So, long live the Annushkas, and the Zoyas, and even the very Augustina Christia- novnas ! Go along to Elena, now, while I go off to .... to Annushka, art thou thinking? No, brother, brother, worse; to Prince TchikurasoiF. He 's a Maecenas of Kazan Tatar origin, after the style of Bolgin. Seest thou this note of invita- tion, these letters: R. S. V. P.? Even in the country I have no peace. Addio! " Berseneff listened to Shubin's tirade to the end, in silence and as though somewhat ashamed on his account, then he entered the yard of the StakhofF villa. And Shubin really did go to Prince TchikurasofF, to whom he uttered, with the most amiable mien, the most pointed imperti- nences. The Maecenas of Kazan Tatar origin shouted with laughter, the JVIsecenas's guests 73 ON THE EVE laughed also, and no one was merry, and when they parted all were in a rage. Thus do two slightly-acquainted gentlemen, when they meet on the Nevsky, suddenly display their teeth in a grin at each other, mawkishly wrinkle up their eyes, noses, and cheeks, and then immediately, as soon as they have passed each other, assume their former indifferent or morose, chiefly apo- plectic expression. 74 Elena received Berseneff in a friendly manner, not in the garden, but in the drawing-room, and immediately, almost impatiently, renewed their conversation of the previous evening. She was alone: Nikolai Artemievitch had quietly slipped oiF somewhere, Anna Vasilievna was lying down up-stairs with a wet bandage on her head. Zoya was sitting beside her, with her skirt primly ar- ranged, and her hands folded on her knees ; Uvar Ivanovitch was reposing in the mezzanine on a broad, comfortable divan, which had received the nickname of " the doze-compeller." Again BerseneiF alluded to his father: he held his mem- ory sacred. Let us say a few words about him. The owner of eighty-two souls,^ whom he emancipated before his death, an illuminatuSj a former student at Gottingen, the author of a manuscript work, " The Presentations or Pre- figurings of the Soul in the World," — a work wherein Schellingism,Swedenborgianism,and re- publicanism were intermingled in the most origi- nal manner — BersenefF's father brought him to Moscow while he was still a small lad, immedi- ately after the death of his mother, and himself ^ Male serfs. —Translator. 75 ON THE EVE undertook his education. He prepared himself for every lesson, and toiled with remarkable con- scientiousness and with utter lack of success: he was a dreamer, a book-worm, a mystic, he talked with a stutter, in a dull voice, expressed himself obscurely and in an involved way, chiefly in com- parisons, and was abashed even in the presence of his son, whom he passionately loved. It is not sur- prising that the son was merely staggered by his lessons, and did not advance a hair's breadth. The old man (he was about fifty years of age, having married very late in life) divined, at last, that things were not going as they should, and placed his Andriiisha in a boarding-school. Andriiisha began to learn, but did not escape from parental oversight : the father visited him incessantly, bor- ing the head of the school to death with his exhor- tations and conversations; the inspectors also were bored by the unbidden visitor: he was con- stantly bringing them what they called most amazing books on education. Even the scholars felt uncomfortable at the sight of the old man's tanned and pock-marked face, his gaunt figure, constantly clad in a spike-tailed grey dress-coat. The school-boys never suspected that this surly gentleman, who never smiled, with his stork-like gait and long nose, heartily sympathised and grieved with every one of them, almost the same as he did with his own son. One day he took it into his head to harangue them on the subject of 76 ON THE EVE Washington: "Youthful nursHngs!" he began, but at the first sounds of his queer voice the youthful nurslings dispersed. The honest grad- uate of Gottingen did not live on roses: he was constantly crushed by the course of history, by all sorts of problems and considerations. When young BersenefF entered the university, he ac- companied him to the lectures ; but his health had already begun to fail. The events of the year '48 shattered it to the very foundation (he was forced to make his book all over), and he died in the winter of the year 1853, before his son graduated from the university, but not until he had congratulated him in advance on having ob- tained his degree, and consecrated him to the ser- vice of science. " I transfer the torch to thee," — he said to him, two hours before his death, — " I have held it as long as I could, do not thou let go of the torch until the end." BersenefF talked for a long time to Elena about his father. The awkwardness which he had felt in her presence vanished, and he did not lisp as badly as before. The conversation turned on the university. " Tell me," — Elena asked him, — " were there any remarkable individuals among your com- rades? " Again BersenefF recalled Shiibin. " No, Elena Nikolaevna, to tell you the tiTith, there was not a single individual of mark among 77 ON THE EVE us. Yes, and why should there be! There was such a time at the Moscow University, they say! Only, not now. Now it is a school, not a univer- sity. I have had a hard time with my comrades," he added, dropping his head. "A hard time? " whispered Elena. " However," — went on Berseneff , — " I must correct myself: I know one student— he is not in my course, it is true— who really is a remarkable man." "What is his name?" — asked Elena with vivacity. " Insaroif , Dmitry Nikanorovitch. He is a Bulgarian." " Not a Russian? " " No, not a Russian." " But why is he living in Moscow? " " He has come hither to study. And do you know, with what object he is studying? He has a certain idea: the liberation of his native land. And his lot is unusual. His father was a fairly well-to-do merchant, a native of Tirnovo. Tir- novo is now a small town, but in olden times it used to be the capital of Bulgaria, when Bulgaria was still an independent kingdom. He traded in Sofia, he had relations with Russia; his sister, InsarofF's own aunt, still lives in Kieff, married to a former teacher of history in a gym- nasium there. In 1835, that is to say, about eighteen years ago, a frightful crime was perpe- 78 ON THE EVE trated: InsarofF's mother suddenly disappeared, without leaving a trace: a week later, she was found with her throat cut." Elena shuddered. BersenefF paused. " Go on, go on," she said. "Rumours were in circulation that she had been abducted and murdered by a Turkish Aga; her husband, Insaroff 's father, discovered the truth and wanted to avenge himself, but he only wounded the Aga with his dagger. . . He was shot." "Shot? Without a trial?" " Yes. Insaroff at that time was in his eighth year. He was left on the hands of the neigh- bours. His sister learned of the fate of her bro- ther's family, and wanted to have her nephew with her. He was taken to Odessa, and thence to KiefF. In KiefF he lived for twelve years. That is why he speaks Russian so well." " Does he speak Russian? " " As well as you and I do. When he was twenty years of age (that was in the beginning of 1848) , he wanted to return to his native land. He went to Sofia and Tirnovo, and traversed the whole of Bulgaria, in its length and breadth, spent two years there, and learned his native lan- guage again. The Turkish government perse- cuted him, and probably, during those two years, he was subjected to great perils; I once saw on his neck a broad scar, which must have been the 79 ON THE EVE vestige of a wound; but he does not like to talk about it. He is a taciturn fellow, also, in his way. I have tried to make him tell me all about it, — but in vain. He replies in general phrases. He is frightfully stubborn. In the year 1850 he re- turned again to Russia, to Moscow, with the in- tention of perfecting his culture, of getting bet- ter acquainted with the Russians. Later on, when he graduates from the university " " And what then? " interrupted Elena. " Whatever God sends. It is difficult to con- jecture in advance." For a long time Elena did not remove her eyes from BerseneiF. " You have interested me greatly with your story," she said. — " What is he like personally, that friend of yours, — what did you say his name is? . . . InsarofF? " " How can I tell you? He is not bad-looking, according to my taste. But you shall see him for yourself." "How so?" *' I shall bring him hither to your house. He is coming to our hamlet the day after to-mor- row, and is to live in the same lodgings with me." " Really? But will he care to come to us? " " I should say sol He will be very glad to come." " He is not proud." "He?— He? Not in the least. That is to say, 80 ON THE EVE he is proud, if you like to call it that, but not in the sense in which you mean. For instance, he will not borrow money from any one! " " And is he poor? " " Yes, he is not rich. When he went to Bul- garia, he got together a few crumbs, which had remained intact of his father's property, and his aunt aids him; but all that is a mere trifle." *' He must have a great deal of character," — remarked Elena. " Yes. He is a man of iron. And, at the same time, as you will see, there is something childlike, sincere about him, with all his concentration, and even secretiveness. In truth, his sincerity is not our trashy sincerity, the sincerity of people who have absolutely nothing to conceal But I will bring him to you, — just wait." "And he is not shy?" — Elena put another question. " No, he is not shy. Only self -conceited peo- ple are shy." " And are you conceited? " Berseneff became confused, and flung his hands apart. " You arouse my curiosity," — continued Elena. — " But come, tell me, did not he avenge himself on that Turkish Aga?" Berseneff smiled. " People avenge themselves only in romances, Elena Nikolaevna; and, moreover, in the twelve 81 ON THE EVE years which had elapsed, the Aga might have died." " But has Mr. InsarofF told you nothing about it?" " Nothing." " Why did he go to Sofia?" " His father had lived there." Elena became thoughtful. " To free his fatherland ! "—she said.—" Those are awkward words even to utter, they are so great " At that moment, Anna Vasilievna entered the room, and the conversation came to an end. Strange sensations agitated BerseneiF when he returned home that evening. He did not re- pent of his intention to make Elena acquainted with InsarofF: he regarded as very natural the profound impression which his recitals about the young Bulgarian had produced. . . . Had not he himself endeavoured to strengthen that im- pression! But a secret and gloomy feeling stealthily made its nest in his heart; he was de- pressed with a sadness which was not pleasant. This sadness did not, however, prevent his taking up the " History of the Hohenstaufens," and beginning to read it, at the very same page where he had left off on the previous evening. 82 XI Two days later, InsarofF, in accordance with his promise, presented himself to BersenefF with his luggage. He had no servant, but he put his room in order without any assistance, placed the furniture, wiped up the dust, and swept the floor. He fidgeted for a particularly long time over the writing-table, which absolutely refused to fit the wall-space designated for it; but Insaroif, with the taciturn persistence peculiar to him, had his way. Having got settled, he asked BersenefF to take from him ten rubles in advance, and arm- ing himself with a stout staff, he set off to in- spect the environs of his new residence. He returned, three hours later, and in reply to Ber- senefF's invitation to share his meal, he said that he would not refuse to dine with him that day, but he had already made an arrangement with the landlady, and thenceforth he would get his food from her. " Good gracious! " — retorted Berseneff : "You will be badly fed : that woman does not know the first thing about cooking. Why are not you will- ing to dine with me? We could have shared the expense." 83 ON THE EVE " My means do not permit me to dine as you do," — replied InsarofF, with a calm smile. There was something about that smile which did not admit of insistence: BersenefF did not add a word. After dinner, he proposed to In- saroff that he should take him to the Stakhoff s ; but the latter replied that he intended to de- vote the entire evening to writing to his Bul- garian correspondents, and therefore begged him to defer the visit to the Stakhoffs until another day. BersenefF was already acquainted with the inflexibility of InsarofF's will, but only now, when he found himself under the same roof with him, was he definitively able to convince himself of the fact that InsaroiF never changed any of his de- cisions, just as he never put off the fulfilment of a promise he had once given. This more than German punctiliousness seemed, at first, brutal, and even slightly ridiculous, to BersenefF, a radi- cally Russian man ; but he speedily became accus- tomed to it, and ended by thinking it, if not worthy of respect, at least extremely convenient. On the day after his removal, InsarofF rose at four o'clock in the morning, explored nearly the whole of Kuntzovo, bathed in the river, drank a glass of cold milk, and set to work ; and he had not a little work on hand : he was studying Rus- sian history, and law, and political economy, and was translating Bulgarian ballads and chronicles, collecting materials concerning the Eastern Ques- 84 ON THE EVE tion, compiling a Russian grammar for the Bul- garians, and a Bulgarian grammar for the Rus- sians. BersenefF dropped into his room, and talked to him about Feuerbach. Insaroff listened to him attentively, and replied rarely, but practi- cally; from his replies it was obvious that he was trying to make up his mind whether it was ne- cessary for him to occupy his mind with Feuer- bach, or whether he could dispense with him. BersenefF then turned the conversation on his work, and asked Insaroff to show him some of it. Insaroff read to him his translation of two or three Bulgarian ballads, and expressed a desire to know his opinion. BersenefF thought the translation accurate, but not sufficiently viva- cious. Insaroff took his remark under consider- ation. From the ballads, BersenefF passed to the contemporary situation of Bulgaria, and here, for the first time, he observed what Insaroff underwent at the mere mention of his native land: it was not that his face flushed hotly, or that his voice was raised— no! but his whole being seemed to gather strength and strain onward, the outlines of his lips became more clearly and more pitilessly defined, and in the depths of his eyes some sort of a dull, un- quenchable fire kindled. Insaroff was not fond of dilating upon his own trip to his native land, but about Bulgaria in general he talked willingly with every one ; he talked, without haste, 85 ON THE EVE about the Turks, about their oppressions, about the woes and calamities of his fellow-country- men, about their hopes ; the concentrated deliber- ation of a sole and long-existing passion was au- dible in his every word. " I 'm afraid that Turkish Aga paid his debt to him for the death of his mother and father," — BersenefF was thinking in the meantime. Before Insaroff had ceased speaking, the door opened, and Shiibin made his appearance on the threshold. He entered the room in a rather too free-and- easy, good-natured way; Berseneff, who knew him well, immediately comprehended that some- thing had stirred him up. " I will introduce myself without ceremony," — ^he began, with a bright and frank expression of countenance: — "my name is Shiibin; I am a friend of this young man here." (He pointed at BersenefF.) "You are Mr. InsarofF, I think, are you not? " " I am InsarofF." " Then give me your hand, and let us make ac- quaintance. I do not know whether BersenefF has talked to you about me, but he has talked to me about you. You have taken up your abode here? Capital! Don't be angry with me for star- ing intently at you. I am a sculptor by profes- sion, and I foresee that before long I shall ask your permission to model your head." 86 ON THE EVE " My head is at your service," — said InsarofF. " What are we doing to-day, hey? " — said Shii- bin, suddenly seating himself on a low stool, with both arms propped upon his widely- parted knees. — " Andrei Petrovitch, has Your Well-born any plan for the present day? The weather is glorious; it is so redolent of hay and dry strawberries .... that it is as though one were drinking herb tea. We ought to get up some sort of jollification. Let 's show the new resident of Kiintzovo all its numer- ous beauties. ("He is stirred up," BersenefF continued to think to himself.) " Come, why art thou silent, my friend Horatio? Open thy wise lips. Shall we get up some sort of an affair, or not? " "I don't know," — remarked BersenefF: — " that 's as InsarofF says. I think he is preparing to work." Shiibin wheeled round on his stool. " Do you want to work? " — he asked, some- what through his nose. " No," — replied InsarofF;—" I can devote to- day to a stroll." "Ah!"— ejaculated Shiibin.— " Well, that's fine. Come along, my friend Andrei Petrovitch, cover your wise head with a hat, and let us walk straight ahead, whithersoever our eyes gaze. Our eyes are young — they see far. I know of a very bad little eating-house, where they will give us a 87 ON THE EVE very nasty little dinner; and we shall be very jolly. Come along." Half an hour later, all three of them were strolling along the shore of the Moscow River. It appeared that InsarofF had a decidedly queer, long-eared cap, over which Shubin went into not entirely natural ecstasies. InsarofF strode along at a leisurely pace, gazed about him, breathed the air, talked and smiled composedly: but he had consecrated that day to pleasure, and was enjoy- ing himself to the full. " That 's the way good little boys walk on Sun- days," whispered Shubin in BersenefF's ear. Shubin himself cut up all sorts of capers, ran on ahead, assumed the poses of famous statues, turned somersaults on the grass ; InsaroiF's com- posure did not exactly irritate him, but it made him play antics. " What makes thee grimace so, Frenchman ! " BersenefF remarked to him a couple of times. " Yes, I am a Frenchman, — half a Frenchman," — Shubin retorted; "but do thou keep the mean between jest and seriousness, as a certain waiter used to say to me." The young men turned away from the river, and walked along a deep, narrow gully, between two walls of tall, golden rye; a bluish shadow fell upon them from one of these walls; the radiant sun seemed to glide across the crests of the ears; the larks were singing, the quails were calling ; everywhere 88 ON THE EVE about the grass grew green; a warm breeze flut- tered and raised its blades, and rocked the heads of the flowers. After prolonged ramblings, rests, and chat — (Shiibin even tried to play at leap-frog with a toothless, wretched passing peas- ant, who laughed incessantly, whatever the gen- tlemen did to him) — the young men arrived at the " very bad little " eating-house. The servant almost upset each one of them, and actually did feed them with a very nasty dinner, with some sort of wine from beyond the Balkans, all which, however, did not prevent their heartily enjoying themselves, as Shiibin had predicted that they would; he himself was the most noisily merry — and the least merry of them all. He drank the health of the incomprehensible but great Vene- lin, the health of the Bulgarian King Krum, Khrum, or Khrom, who lived about the time of Adam. " In the ninth century," — Insarofl" corrected him. " In the ninth century? " — exclaimed Shiibin. —"Oh, what bliss!" Berseneff* remarked that, in the midst of all his antics, sallies, and jests, Shiibin seemed to be constantly examining Insarofl*,— kept sounding him, as it were,— and was the prey of inward agi- tation, — while Insarofl* remained calm and clear as before. 89 ON THE EVE At last they returned home, changed their clothes, and, in order not to spoil the programme which they had adopted in the morning, they de- cided to betake themselves that same evening to the StakhofFs. Shubin ran on ahead to give no- tice of their coming. 90 XII " The Hero Insaroff will deign to come hither in a moment! " he exclaimed trimnphantly, as he entered the drawing-room of the Stakhoffs, where, at that moment, there was no one but Elena and Zoya. " Wer? '"—asked Zoya in German. When taken by surprise, she always expressed herself in her native tongue. Elena drew herself up. Shubin glanced at her with a playful smile on his lips. She was vexed, but said nothing. "You have heard," — he repeated: — "Mr. InsaroiF is coming hither." " I have heard," — she replied, — " and I have heard what you called him. I am amazed at you, I really am. Mr. InsaroiF has not yet set his foot here, and you already consider it necessary to make wry faces." Shubin suddenly relaxed. " You are right, you are always right, Elena Nikolaevna: — but I did n't mean it, God is my witness that I did not. We have been strolling together all day, and he is an excellent man, I assure you." " I did not ask you about that," — said Elena, rising from her seat. 91 ON THE EVE Is Mr. Insaroff young? " — inquired Zoya. He is one hundred and forty-four years old," answered Shiibin, with vexation. The page announced the arrival of the two friends. BersenefF introduced InsarofF. Elena asked them to be seated, and sat down herself, but Zoya went away up-stairs: Anna Vasilievna must be informed. A conversation began, — ra- ther insignificant, like all first conversations. Shiibin kept silent watch from a corner, but there was nothing to watch. In Elena he ob- served the traces of repressed vexation with him- self, Shiibin, — and that was all. He glanced at BersenefF and at InsarofF, and, as a sculptor, he compared their faces. Neither of them was handsome, he thought: the Bulgarian had a face full of character, a sculpturesque face; it was well illuminated now; the Great Russian de- mands rather painting: he has no lines, but he has physiognomy. But, probably, one might fall in love with the latter as well as with the former. She was not in love yet, but she would fall in love with BersenefF, he decided in his own mind. — Anna Vasilievna made her appear- ance in the drawing-room, and the conversation took a turn completely of the summer-villa order, — precisely that, the villa order, not the country order. It was a very varied conversation in the matter of the abundance of the subjects discussed; but brief, tiresome pauses broke it 92 ON THE EVE off every three minutes. In one of these pauses, Anna Vasilievna turned to Zoya. Shubin under- stood her mute hint, and made a wry face, but Zoya seated herself at the piano and played and sang all her little pieces. Uvar Ivanovitch showed himself for a moment in the dooi'way, but wiggled his fingers and retreated. Then tea was served, and the whole party went into the garden. . . It had grown dark out of doors, and the guests went away. InsarofF had really made less of an impression on Elena than she herself had expected; or, to speak more accurately, his straightforwardness and unconstrainedness had pleased her, — and his face had pleased her. But InsarofF's whole being, composedly firm, and simple in an every- day way, somehow did not accord with the im- age which she had formed in her own mind from Berseneff's accounts. Elena, without herself suspecting it, had expected something " more fatal." But, thought she, he said very little to- day; I myself am to blame: I did not question him, I will wait until the next time .... but his eyes are expressive, honest eyes. She felt that she did not wish to bow down before him and give him a friendly hand, and she was sur- prised: not thus had she pictured to herself peo- ple, like Insaroff , who were " heroes." This last word reminded her of Shubin, and she flushed up and waxed indignant, as she lay in her bed. 93 ON THE EVE " How do you like your new acquaintances? " BersenefF asked Insaroff on their way home. " I hke them very much," — repHed Insaroff, — " especially the daughter. She must be a splendid girl. She gets agitated, but in her case it must be a good agitation." " We must go to them as often as we can," — remarked Berseneff. " Yes, we must," — said Insaroff — and said nothing more the whole way home. He immedi- ately locked himself up in his room, but his can- dle burned until long after midnight. Before Berseneff had succeeded in reading a page of Raumer, a handful of fine gravel was flung and rattled against the panes of his win- dow. He involuntarily started, opened the win- dow, and espied Shiibin, pale as a sheet. "What a turbulent fellow thou art! thou night-moth! " began Berseneff. " Hush! " Shiibin interrupted him: — " I have come to thee by stealth, as Max did to Agatha. It is imperatively necessary that I should say a few words to thee in private." " Then come into the room." *' No, that is unnecessary," — replied Shubin, leaning his elbows on the window-sill: — "it 's jollier this way, more like Spain. In the first place, I congratulate thee; thy stocks have gone up. Thy vaunted, remarkable man has been a dead failure. I can vouch for that. And, ON THE EVE in order to demonstrate to thee my disinterested- ness, listen : here 's a formal inventory of Mr. In- saroif : Talents, none; poetry, has n't any; capa- city for work, an immense amount; memory, a great deal; mind, neither varied nor profound, but healthy and lively, aridity and power, and even a gift of language, when the subject is his — between ourselves be it said — most deadly tiresome Bulgaria. What? thou wilt say, I am unjust? One more remark: thou wilt never be on terms of calling him thou^ and no one ever has called him thou; I, as an artist, am repulsive to him, a fact of which I am proud. He 's dry, dry, and he can grind all of you to powder. He is bound up with his land — not like our empty ves- sels, who fawn on the people ; as much as to say : ' Flow into us, thou living water ! ' On the other hand, his problem is easier, more readily under- stood : all it amounts to is, to turn out the Turks, and a great matter that is! But all these quali- ties, thank God, do not please women. There's no fascination, charme; nothing of that which thou and I possess." " Why dost thou implicate me in this? " — mut- tered Berseneff. — " And thou art not right as to the rest: thou art not in the least repulsive to him, and he is on the footing of thou with his fellow-countrymen, .... that I know." " That is another matter! For them he is a hero; but I must say that my conception of 95 ON THE EVE heroes is different: a hero ought not to know how to talk — a hero bellows like a bull; on the other hand, when he moves his horns the walls tumble down. And he himself ought not to know why he moves, yet he does move. How- ever, perhaps heroes of another calibre are re- quired in our times." " Why does InsaroiF occupy thy mind so much?" — inquired Berseneff. — "Is it possible that thou hast run hither merely for the purpose of describing his character to me? " " I came hither," — began Shiibin, — " because I was very sad at home." "Not really I Dost not thou wish to weep agam f "Laugh away! I came hither because I am ready to bite my own elbows, because despair is gnawing rtie — vexation, jealousy " " Jealousy! — of whom? " " Of thee, of him, of everybody. I am tor- mented by the thought that if I had understood her earher, if I had set about the business intelli- gently .... But what 's the use of talking! It will end in my constantly laughing, fooling, playing antics, as she says, and then I shall take and strangle myself." " Well, as for strangling thyself, thou wilt not," — remarked Berseneff. " On such a night, of course not; but only let us live until the autumn. On such a night as this 96 ON THE EVE people die also, but it is from happiness. Akh, happiness! Every shadow stretched out athwart the road from the trees seems to be whispering, now: ' I know where happiness is. . . . Wilt thou have me tell thee ? ' I would invite thee to a stroll, but thou art now under the influence of prose. Sleep, and mayest thou dream of mathematical figures! But my soul is bursting. You, gentlemen, behold a man laugh, and that signifies, according to you, that he is at ease ; you can prove to him that he is contradicting himself, which means that he is not suffering. . . Be- gone with you! " Shiibin swiftly withdrew from the window. " Annushka! " BersenefF felt like shouting after him, but he restrained himself; in fact, Shubin looked unlike his natural self. A couple of min- utes later, Berseneff even fancied that he heard sobs ; he rose, and opened the window ; everything was quiet, only somewhere, in the distance, some one — probably a passing peasant— struck up " The Mozdok Steppe." 97 XIII In the course of the first two weeks after In- sarofF's removal to the neighbourhood of Kiin- tzovo, he did not visit the StakliofFs more than four or five times ; Berseneff went to them every other day. Elena was always glad to see him, a lively and interesting conversation always arose between him and her, but, nevertheless, he frequently returned home with a melancholy countenance. Shubin scarcely showed himself; he busied himself with his art, with feverish ac- tivity: he either sat behind locked doors in his chamber and rushed thence in his blouse, all smeared with clay, or spent days in Moscow, where he had a studio, whither came to him models and Italian model-makers, his friends and teachers. Elena never once talked with In- sarofF as she would have liked to talk; in his absence, she prepared herself to question him about many things, but when he came she felt ashamed of her preparations. InsarofF's very composure daunted her : it seemed to her that she had no right to make him express his opinions, and she resolved to wait; withal she felt that with every visit of his, however insignificant were 98 ON THE EVE the words which were exchanged between them, he attracted her more and more : but she had not happened to be left alone with him, — and in order to get close to a person it is necessary to have at least one private conversation with him. She talked a great deal about him to BersenefF. BersenefF understood that Elena's imagination had been struck by InsarofF, and rejoiced that his friend had not proved a failure, as Shubin had asserted; he narrated to her, with fervour, everything he knew about him, down to the very smallest details (we frequently, when we wish to please a person ourselves, extol our friends in conversation with him, almost never suspecting, moreover, that by that very fact we extol our- selves), and only now and then, when Elena's pale cheeks flushed slightly, and her eyes began to beam and open widely, did that noxious sad- ness, which he had already experienced, grip his heart. One day Berseneff went to the Stakhoffs at eleven in the morning, an unusual hour for him. Elena came to the drawing-room to receive him. " Just imagine," — he began with a forced smile: — "our InsarofF has disappeared." " Disappeared? " said Elena. " Yes, disappeared. Day before yesterday, in the evening, he went off somewhere, and since then there has been no sign of him." *' Did not he tell you where he was going? " 99 ON THE EVE << "1VT~ >' No.' Elena sank down on a chair. " Probably he went to Moscow," — she re- marked, striving to appear indifferent, and, at the same time, surprised that she was striving to appear indifferent. " I do not think so," — returned BersenefF. — " He did not go away alone." " With whom, then? " *' Two men, who must have been fellow-coun- trymen of his, came to him the day before yes- terday." " Bulgarians? Why do you think that? " " Because, so far as I was able to overhear them, they were talking with him in a language which was unknown to me, yet was Slavonic. .... Now you, Elena Nikolaevna, have always thought that there was very little that was mys- terious about Insaroff; what could be more mys- terious than this visit? Imagine: they entered his room— and began to shout and quarrel, and so savagely, so viciously. . . And he shouted also." "He also?" " He also. He shouted at them. They seemed to be complaining of each other. And if you could but have seen those visitors! Swarthy, dull faces, with broad cheek-bones and aquiline noses, each of them over forty years of age, badly dressed, dusty, sweaty, with the aspect of ar- 100 ON THE EVE tisans — neither artisans nor gentlemen. . . God knows what sort of men." " And he went away with them? " " Yes. He fed them, and went off with them. My landlady said that, between the two, they devoured a huge pot of buckwheat groats. She says they vied with each other in gulping it down, just like wolves." Elena gave a faint laugh. " You will see," — she said: — " all this will turn out in some very prosaic manner." " God grant it ! Only, you are wrong to use that word. There is nothing prosaic about In- saroff, although Shiibin declares . . . ." "Shiibin!" — interrupted Elena, and shrugged her shoulders.—" But admit that those two gen- tlemen who gulped down the groats " " Themistocles also ate on the eve of the bat- tle of Salamis,"— remarked Berseneff, with a smile. " Exactly so: but, on the other hand, the bat- tle took place on the following day." " But you must let me know when he returns," — added Elena, and tried to change the conver- sation, — but the conversation languished. Zoya made her appearance, and began to walk about the room on tiptoe, thereby giving it to be under- stood that Anna Vasilievna had not yet waked up. Berseneff took his departure. 101 ON THE EVE On that same day, in the evening, a note was brought from him to Elena. " He has returned," — he wrote to her: — " sunburned, and dusty to the very eyebrows ; but why and whither he went, I do not know; cannot you find out? " " ' Cannot you find out! ' "—whispered Elena. — " Does he talk with me? " 102 XIV About two o'clock on the following day, Elena was standing in the garden, in front of a small kennel, where she was rearing two watch-dog pups. (The gardener had found them aban- doned under the hedge, and had brought them to his young mistress, concerning whom the laun- dresses had told him that she had compassion on all wild beasts and animals.) She glanced into the kennel, convinced herself that the puppies were alive and well and that they had been lit- tered down with fresh straw, turned around, and almost shrieked aloud: directly in front of her, alone, InsarofF was walking up the alley. " Good morning," — he said, approaching her, and removing his cap. She noticed that he had, in fact, grown very sunburned during the last three days. — " I wanted to come hither with Andrei Petrovitch, but he lingered for some rea- son or other; so I set out without him. There was no one at your house, — everybody is asleep or out walking, — so I came hither." " You seem to be apologising," — replied Elena. — " That is entirely unnecessary. We are 103 ON THE EVE all very glad to see you. . . . Let us sit down on that bench yonder, in the shade." She seated herself. InsarofF sat down beside her. " You have not been at home of late, I be- lieve? " — she began. "No," — he replied: " I went away. . . . Did Andrei Petrovitch tell you? " Insaroff glanced at her, smiled, and began to play with his cap. When he smiled, he winked his eyes swiftly and thrust out his lips, which im- parted to him a very good-natured aspect. " Andrei Petrovitch, probably, told you also that I had gone off with some . . . horrible peo- ple," — he went on, continuing to smile. Elena was somewhat disconcerted, but imme- diately felt that it was necessary always to speak the truth to InsarofF. " Yes," she said, with decision. " What did you think of me? " — he suddenly asked her. Elena raised her eyes to his. " I thought,"— she said . ..." I thought that you always know what you are doing, and that you are not capable of doing anything bad." " Well, I thank you for that. See here, Elena Nikolaevna," — he began, moving closer to her, in a confidential sort of way: — "there is only a small family of us here; among us there are people who are not highly educated; but all 104 ON THE EVE are firmly devoted to the general cause. Un- happily, quarrels cannot be avoided, and all know me, trust me; so they called on me to ar- bitrate in a quarrel. I went." " Was it far from here? " " I went more than sixty versts, to the Troit- zky suburb.^ There, at the monastery, there are also some of our people. At all events, I did not have my trouble for nothing : I arranged the matter." " And did you find it difficult? " " Yes. One persisted in being stubborn. He would not give up the money." "What? Was the quarrel about money?" " Yes ; and not a large amount, either. But what did you suppose it was? " " And for such a trifle you travelled sixty versts — j^ou wasted three days? " " It is not a trifle, Elena Nikolaevna, when one's fellow-countrymen are concerned. To re- fuse in such a case, would be a sin. Here, I per- ceive that you do not refuse your aid even to puppies, and for that I laud you. And as for my having wasted time, that is of no consequence. I will make it up later on. Our time does not belong to us." "To whom, then?" " To every one who needs us. I have told you * The Trinity — Sergy^i Monastery, forty miles from Moscow. — Teianslator. 105 ON THE EVE all this without circumlocution, because I value your opinion. I can imagine how Andrei Petro- vitch amazed you! " " You value my opinion," — said Elena in a low tone: — " why? " Again InsarofF smiled. " Because you are a nice young lady, not an aristocrat . . . that 's all." A brief silence ensued. "Dmitry Nikanorovitch,"— said Elena: "do you know that this is the first time you have been so frank with me? " " How so? It strikes me, that I have always told you everything I thought." " No; this is the first time, and I am very glad of it, — and I, also, wish to be frank with you. May I?" InsarofF laughed and said: " You may." " I warn you, that I am very curious." " Never mind, speak on." " Andrei Petrovitch has told me a great deal about your life, about your youth. I know one circumstance, one frightful circumstance. . . . I know that, afterward, you went home to your fatherland. . . . Do not answer me, for God's sake, if my question appears to you to be indis- creet, — but one thought tortures me. . . . Tell me, did you meet that man " Elena's breath failed her. Her daring both 106 ON THE EVE mortified and terrified her. Insaroif gazed in- tently at her, narrowing his eyes slightly, and touching his chin with his fingers. " Elena Nikolaevna," — he began, at last, and his voice was softer than usual, which almost frightened Elena: — " I understand what man you just referred to. No, I did not meet him, and God be thanked for that! I did not seek him. I did not seek him because I did not con- sider that I had a right to kill him, — I would have killed him quite calmly,— but it was not a case for private vengeance, when it is a ques- tion of national, general vengeance .... or no, that is not the proper word . . . when it is a question of the emancipation of a nation. The one would have interfered with the other. In its own good time, that will not escape, either. .... That will not escape, either,"— he re- peated — and shook his head. Elena cast a sidelong glance at him. " You love your native land greatly? " she ar- ticulated timidly. " That is not settled, as yet," — he replied. — " You see, when some one of us shall die for her, then it may be said that he loved her." " So that, if you should be deprived of the pos- sibility of returning to Bulgaria," — went on Elena: — "you would be very unhappy in Rus- sia?" Insaroff dropped his eyes. 107 (( (( ON THE EVE " It seems to me that I should not survive that," — he said. "Tell me," — began Elena again: — "is the Bulgarian language difficult to learn? " " Not at all. A Russian ought to be ashamed not to know Bulgarian. A Russian ought to know all the Slavonic dialects. Would you like to have me bring you some Bulgarian books? You will see how easy it is. What ballads we have ! As good as the Servian. And, stay, I will translate one of them for you. . . . Do you know anything at all about our history? " No, I know nothing," — replied Elena. Wait, I will bring you a book. You will see the principal facts, at least, in it. Now listen to the ballad. . . However, I had better bring you a written translation. I am convinced that you will like us. If you only knew what a blessed land is ours! Yet they trample it under foot, they torture it," — he added, with an involuntary gesture of his hands, and his face darkened: — " they have taken from us everything, every- thing: our churches, our rights, our lands; the accursed Turks drive us like a flock, they cut our throats " "Dmitry Nikanorovitch ! " exclaimed Elena. He paused. " Forgive me. I cannot speak of it with in- difference. You just asked me, whether I loved my native land? What else on earth can one 108 ON THE EVE love? What alone is unchangeable, what is above all suspicion, what else is it impossible not to believe in, except God? And when that fa- therland needs thee .... Observe: the hum- blest peasant in Bulgaria and I, — we desire one and the same thing. We have but one aim, all of us. You must understand what confidence and strength that gives! " InsarofF paused for a moment, and again began to talk about Bulgaria. Elena listened to him with devouring, profound, and melan- choly attention. When he had finished, she asked him once more: " So, you would not remain in Russia, on any terms? "... And when he went away, she gazed long after him. He had become for her a different man that day. The man to whom she bade farewell was not the same man whom she had greeted two hours before. From that day forth, he began to come more and more frequently, and Berseneff came more and more rarely. Between the two friends a strange something had established itself of which both were plainly conscious, but which they could not name, and were afraid to explain. A month passed in this manner. 109 XV Anna Vasilievna was fond of staying at home, as the reader is ah'eady aware: but sometimes, quite unexpectedly, she manifested an uncon- querable desire for something out of the ordi- nary, some wonderful partie de plaisir; and the more difficult was this partie de plaisir, the more preparations and preliminary arrangements did it require, the more excited did Anna Vasilievna become, the more agreeable was it to her. If that mood descended upon her in the winter, she or- dered that two or three adjoining boxes should be engaged, assembled all her acquaintances, and went to the theatre, or even to a masquerade; in the summer, she went somewhere out of town, the farther the better. On the following day, she complained of headache, groaned, and did not get out of her bed, and a couple of months afterward, the thirst for the " out of the ordi- nary " was again kindled within her. So it hap- pened now. Some one referred, in her presence, to the beauties of Tzaritzyno,^ and Anna Vasi- ^ A village twelve miles from Moscow, with an unfinished palace, begun by Katherine II., and a park. To reach it from Kiintzovo, six miles from town), involves traversing the whole breadth of Moscow. — Translator. 110 ON THE EVE lievna suddenly announced that she intended to go to Tzaritzyno on the next day but one. The house was in an uproar ; a special messenger sped to Moscow for Nikolai Artemievitch ; with him also hastened the butler to purchase wine, pasties, and all sorts of edibles; Shubin was commanded to engage a calash and postilion (the carriage alone was insufficient), and to arrange for re- lays of horses; the page ran twice to Berseneff and InsarofF, and carried them two notes of in- vitation, written first in Russian, then in French, by Zoya; Anna Vasilievna busied herself with the travelling toilets of the young ladies. In the meantime, the partie de plaisir came near being upset: Nikolai Artemievitch arrived from Moscow in a sour and ill-disposed, rebellious frame of mind (he was still in the sulks at Augustma Christianovna) ; and on learning what was on hand, he announced, with decision, that he would not go;— that to rush from Kiint- zovo to Moscow, and from Moscow to Tzarit- zyno, and from Tzaritzyno to Moscow, and from Moscow back to Kiintzovo, was folly ; and, in short, he added, " Let it first be proved to me, that any one spot on the earth's surface can be any jollier than any other spot, then I will go." Of course, no one could prove this to him, and Anna Vasilievna, in the absence of any se- date cavalier, was on the point of renouncing her partie de plaisir^, when she remembered Uvar 111 ON THE EVE Ivanovitch, and in her distress she sent to his room for him, saying: "A drowning man clutches at a straw." They waked him up; he went down-stairs, listened in silence to Anna Vasilievna's proposal, twiddled his fingers, and, to the general surprise, consented. Anna Vasi- lievna kissed him on the cheek, and called him a darling; Nikolai Artemievitch smiled scornfully, and said, " Quelle hourde! " (he was fond, on oc- casion, of using "chic " French words) ; and, on the following morning, at seven o'clock, the car- riage and the calash, loaded to the brim, rolled out of the yard of the StakhoiFs' villa. In the carriage sat the ladies, the maid, and BersenefF; InsarofF installed himself on the box ; and in the calash were Uvar Ivanovitch and Shiibin. Uvar Ivanovitch himself, by a movement of his fingers, had summoned Shiibin to him; he knew that the latter would tease him the whole way, but be- tween the " black earth force " and the young artist there existed a certain strange bond and a bickering frankness. On this occasion, however, Shiibin left his fat friend in peace: he was taci- turn, abstracted, and gentle. The sun already stood high in the cloudless azure when the carriages drove up to the ruins of the castle of Tzaritzyno, gloomy and forbid- ding even at noon-day. The whole company alighted on the grass, and immediately moved on to the park. In front walked Elena and 112 ON THE EVE Zoya with InsarofF; behind them, with an ex- pression of complete bliss on her face, trod Anna Vasilievna, arm in arm with Uvar Ivanovitch. He panted and waddled, his new straw hat sawed his forehead, and his feet burned in his boots, but he was enjoying himself. Shiibin and Berse- nefF closed the procession. *' We will be in the reserves, my dear fellow, like certain veterans," Shubin whispered to BersenefF. " Bulgaria is there now," he added, indicating Elena with a movement of his brows. The weather was glorious. Everything round about was blooming, humming and singing; in the distance gleamed the water of the ponds; a light, festive feeling took possession of the soul. — " Akh, how nice! akh, how nice!" — Anna Vasilievna kept incessantly repeating; Uvar Ivanovitch nodded his head approvingly, and once he even remarked: "What 's the use of talking! " Elena exchanged words with Insa- rofF from time to time ; Zoya held the broad brim of her hat with two fingers, thrust her tiny feet, clad in light-grey boots with blunt toes, coquet- tishly from beneath her rose-coloured barege gown, and peered now to one side, now behind her. "Oho!" suddenly exclaimed Shubin, in a low tone: "Zoya Nikitishna is looking back, I do believe. I '11 go to her. Elena Nikolaevna despises me now, but she respects thee, Andrei Petrovitch, which amounts to the same thing. 113 ON THE EVE I '11 go; I Ve been sulking long enough. But I advise thee, my friend, to botanise: in thy po- sition, that is the best thing thou canst devise ; and it is useful from a scientific point of view also. Good-bye!" Shubin hastened to Zoya, crooked his arm, saying, ''Ihre Hand, Madame" took her arm, and marched on ahead with her. Elena halted, summoned BersenefF, and took his arm, but continued to chat with Insaroff. She asked him, what were the words in his language for hly of the valley, ash, oak, linden .... ("Bulgaria!" thought poor Andrei Petro- vitch.) All at once, a shriek rang out in front; all raised their heads. Shubin's cigar-case flew into a bush, flung by the hand of Zoya. " Wait, I '11 pay you ofl" for that! " he exclaimed, dived into the bush, found his cigar-case, and was about to return to Zoya ; but no sooner had he approached her, than again his cigar-case flew across the path! Five times this performance was re- peated, he laughing and menacing all the while; but Zoya only smiled quietly, and writhed like a kitten. At last he grasped her fingers, and squeezed them so that she squealed and for a long time afterward blew on her hand, pretend- ing to be angry, while he hummed something in her ear. " Rogues, the j^oung folks," remarked Anna Vasilievna merrily to Uvar Ivanovitch. 114 ON THE EVE The latter twiddled his fingers. "What a girl Zoya Nikitishna is!"— Berse- nefF said to Elena. " And Shiibin? " — she replied. Meanwhile, the whole party had reached the arbour, known by the name of the Pretty Arbour, and halted to admire the view of the Tzaritzyno ponds. They stretched out, one beyond the other, for several versts; the dense forest lay dark beyond them. The grass which covered the entire slope of the hill to the principal pond imparted to the water itself a remarkably-bril- liant emerald hue. Nowhere, even on the shore, was there a wave swelling or foam gleaming white ; not even a ripple flitted over the even sur- face. It seemed as though a mass of chilled glass had spread itself out in a huge font, and the sky had descended to its bottom, and the undulating trees were gazing immovably at themselves in its transparent bosom. All admired the view long and in silence; even Shiibin subsided, even Zoya grew pensive. At last, all were unanimously seized with a desire to go upon the water. Shii- bin, InsarofF, and BersenefF ran a race with one another on the grass. They hunted up a big, gaily-painted boat, found a couple of oarsmen, and called the ladies. The ladies descended to them ; Uvar Ivanovitch cautiously went down af- ter them. While he was entering the boat, and seating himself, there was a great deal of laugh- 115 ON THE EVE ter. "Look out, master! Don't drown us!" remarked one of the rowers, a snub-nosed young fellow, in a sprigged calico shirt. — " Come, come, you windbags!" said Uvar Ivanovitch. The boat pushed off. The young men tried to take the oars, but only one of them— Insaroff— knew how to row. Shiibin suggested that they sing in chorus some Russian song, and himself started up: " Adown dear Mother Volga . . . ." Ber- senefF, Zoya, and even Anna Vasilievna joined in (InsarofF did not know how to sing) ; but a discord ensued in the third verse, the singers got into confusion and BersenefF alone tried to continue in his bass voice: " Naught in her waves can be seen," — but he, also, speedily became disconcerted. The rowers exchanged winks, and grinned in silence. — " Well? " — Shiibin turned to them, — "evidently, the ladies and gentlemen cannot sing? " — The young fellow in the sprigged calico shirt merely shook his head. — " Just wait then. Snub-nose," — retorted Shiibin. " We '11 show you. Zoya Nikitishna, sing us ' Le Lac,' by Niedermeyer. Don't row, you!" — The wet oars were elevated in the air, like wings, and there remained motionless, sonor- ously trickling drops ; the boat floated on a little further, and came to a standstill, barely circling on the water, like a swan. Zoya affected airs. "Allons! " said Anna Vasilievna caressingly. .... Zoya flung aside her hat, and began to 116 ON THE EVE sing : "^ O lac, Vannee a peine a fini sa car- nere .... Her small but clear little voice fairly hurtled across the mirror-like surface of the pond; far away, in the forest, every word was re-echoed; it seemed as though some one there were singing also, in a voice which was distinct and mysterious, but not human or of this world. When Zoya had finished, a thunderous bravo rang out from one of the arbours on the shore, and from it rushed forth several red-faced Germans, who had come to Tzaritzyno to have a carouse. Sev- eral of them were coatless, minus cravats, and even minus waistcoats, and they roared, " Bis! " so violently, that Anna Vasilievna gave orders to row to the other end of the pond as quickly as possible. But, before the boat reached the shore, Uvar Ivanovitch had managed to astonish his acquaintances again: observing that, at one spot of the forest, the echo repeated every sound with particular distinctness, he suddenly began to call like a quail. At first all started, but immedi- ately they experienced genuine pleasure, the more so as Uvar Ivanovitch gave the call with great fidelity and lifelikeness. This encour- aged him, and he tried to mew like a cat ; but his mewing did not turn out so successful; he called once more like a quail, looked at them all, and relapsed into silence. Shiibin rushed to kiss him: he repulsed him. At that moment the boat 117 ON THE EVE made its landing, and the whole party got out on the shore. In the meanwhile, the coachman, aided by the footman and the maid, had brought the baskets from the carriage, and prepared the dinner on the grass, beneath the aged linden- trees. All seated themselves around the out- spread table-cloth, and began on the pasties and other viands. All had an excellent appetite, and Anna Vasilievna kept constantly offering things to her guests, and urging them to eat more, as- serting that this was very healthful in the open air; she addressed sucli remarks even to Uvar Ivanovitch. — "Be easy!" he bellowed at her, with his mouth crammed full. " The Lord has given such a splendid day! " she kept incessantly repeating. It was impossible to stop her: she seemed to have grown twenty years younger. "Yes, yes," she said; "I was very comely, in my time, also; they would n't have rejected me from the first ten, as to looks."— Shiibin joined Zoya, and kept constantly pouring wine for her; she refused, he urged her, and it ended in his drinking a glass himself, then urging her to drink again; he also assured her that he wanted to lay his head on her knees: she would not, on any terms, permit him " so great a familiarity." Elena seemed more serious than all the rest, but in her heart there was a wondrous calm, such as she had not experienced for a long time. She felt herself infinitely amiable, and constantly 118 ON THE EVE wished to have by her side not only InsarofF but also BersenefF Andrei Petrovitch dimly apprehended what this meant, and sighed by stealth. The hours flew past; evening drew on. Anna Vasflievna suddenly started up in affright. — " Akh, good heavens, how late it is! " — she said. " We have had a good time, but all good things must come to an end." She began to fidget, and all began to fidget about, rose to their feet, and walked in the direction of the castle, where the equipages were. As they passed the ponds, all halted to admire Tzaritzyno for the last time. Everywhere flamed the brilliant hues which pre- cede evening: the sky was crimson, the foliage gleamed with flitting sparks, agitated by the rising breeze; the distant waters flowed on, touched with gold; the reddish towers and ar- bours, scattered here and there about the park, stood out sharply against the dark green. " Farewell, Tzaritzyno, we shall not forget our trip of to-day!" said Anna Vasflievna. . . . But at that moment, as though in confirmation of her last words, a strange event occurred, which really was not so easily forgotten. Namely: Anna Vasilievna had not finished wafting her farewell greeting to Tzaritzyno, when suddenly, a few paces from her, behind a tall bush of lilacs, there rang out discordant ex- clamations, laughter and shouts — and a whole 119 ON THE EVE horde of dishevelled men, the very same admirers of singing who had so vigorously applauded Zoya, poured out on the path. The admirers of singing appeared to be very drunk. They halted at sight of the ladies; but one of them, of huge stature, with a bull neck, and inflamed eyes like a bull's, separated himself from his companions, and, bowing clumsily and reeling as he walked, approached Anna Vasflievna, who was petrified with fright. "Bon jour J madame" — he said, in a mighty voice, — " how is your health? " Anna Vasilievna staggered backward. " And why," — pursued the giant, in bad Rus- sian, — " were not you willing to sing his when our company shouted, ' bis,' and ' bravo'? " " Yes, yes, why? " — rang out in the ranks of the company. InsarofF was on the point of stepping forward, but Shiibin stopped him, and himself went to Anna Vasilievna's rescue. " Allow me," — he began, — " respected stran- ger, to express to you the unfeigned amazement into which you have thrown us all by your be- haviour. So far as I can judge, you belong to the Saxon branch of the Caucasian race; conse- quently, we are bound to assume in you a know- ledge of the social decencies, and yet you are addressing a lady to whom you have not been in- troduced. At any other time, believe me, I would 120 ON THE EVE be particularly glad to make closer acquaintance with you ; for I observe in you such a phenomenal development of muscles, — biceps, triceps, and deltoidseus, — that, as a sculptor, I would regard it as a genuine pleasure to have you for a nude model; but, on the present occasion, leave us in peace." The " respected stranger " listened to the whole of Shubin's speech, scornfully twisted his head on one side, and stuck his arms akimbo. " I understands nodings vat you say to me," he said at last. — " You dinks, perhaps, dat I am a master shoemaker or vatchmaker? Eh! I am officer, I am official, yes." " I have no doubt of that," — began Shii- bin .... " And dis is vat I says," — went on the stran- ger, brushing him off the path like a branch with his powerful hand, — "I says: vy did n't you sing bis when we shouted, ' Bis ' ? And now I am going avay, immediately, dis very minute, only, dis is vat is necessary, dat dis fraulein, not dis madam, dat is not necessary, but dis vun, or dis vun " (he pointed at Elena and Zoya), " should give me einen Kuss, as we say in German, a kees, yes; vat of dat? it is noding." " Nothing, it is nothing," rang out again in the ranks of the company.— '^'^7^^/ der Stakra- menter!" said one German, who was already roisterously drunk, choking with laughter. 121 ON THE EVE Zoya clutched at Insaroff 's arm, but he tore himself free from her, and placed himself di- rectly in front of the insolent giant. " Please go away," — he said to him in a low but sharp voice. The German laughed ponderously. — " Vat you mean by avay? I like dat! Can't I valk here also? Vat you mean by avay? Vy avay? " " Because you have dared to disturb a lady," — said InsarofF, and suddenly paled, — " because you are drunk." " Vat? I am drunk? Do you hear? Horen Sie das, Herr Provisor? I 'm an officer, and he dares . . . Now I shall demand Satisfaction! Einen Kuss will ich! " " If you take another step," — began Insa- rofF "Veil? And vat den?" " I will throw you into the water." " Into de vater? Herr Jet Is dat all? Come, let 's see, it 's very curious, how you '11 throw me into de vater. . . ." The officer raised his arms, and started for- ward, but suddenly something remarkable hap- pened: he gave a groan, his whole huge body swayed, rose from the ground, his legs kicked in the air, and before the ladies had time to shriek, before any one could understand how the thing was done, the officer, with his whole mass, splashed 122 ON THE EVE heavily in the pond, and immediately disap- peared beneath the swirling water. "Akh!" screamed the ladies in unison. " Mein Gott!" was audible from the other side. A minute elapsed . . . and the round head, all plastered with damp hair, made its appear- ance above the water; it emitted bubbles, that head; two arms gesticulated convulsively at its very lips. . . . " He will drown, save him, save him! " Anna Vasilievna shrieked to Insaroff, who was stand- ing on the shore, his legs planted far apart, and panting. " He '11 swim out," he said, with scornful and pitiless indifference. — " Let us go," — he added, offering Anna Vasilievna his arm, — " come along, Uvar Ivanovitch, Elena Nikolaevna." " A . . . a . . . . o . . . . o . . ." at that moment resounded the j^ell of the unlucky Ger- man, w^ho had contrived to grasp the shore reeds. All moved on after Insaroff, and all were obliged to pass that same " companie." But, de- prived of their head, the roisterers had quieted down, and did not utter a word; one only, the bravest of them all, muttered, as he shook his head : " Well, but this . . . this, God knows, what . . . after this " ; and another even pulled off his hat. Insaroff seemed to them very for- 123 ON THE EVE midable, and with good cause : something malevo- lent, something dangerous had come forth in his face. The Germans rushed to fish their comrade out, and the latter, as soon as he found himself on dry land, began tearfully to curse and shout after those " Russian bandits," that he would complain, that he would go to Count von Kieze- ritz himself. . . . But the " Russian bandits " paid no attention to his shouts, and made all haste to the cas- tle. All maintained silence while they walked through the park, only Anna Vasilievna sighed slightly. But at last they approached their car- riages, halted, and an irrepressible, interminable shout of laughter arose from them, as with the heaven-dwellers of Homer. First Shiibin burst out shrilly, like a crazy person; after him Berse- neiF rattled away like a shower of peas; then Zoya scattered fine pearls of laughter; Anna Vasilievna, also, suddenly went into such parox- ysms of mirth, that Elena could not refrain from smiling; even Insaroff, at last, could not resist. But louder and longer than all the rest, shouted Uvar Ivanovitch ; he roared until he had a stitch in the side, until he sneezed, until he strangled. He would quiet down a little, and say through his tears: " I . . . think . . . that that knocked him out .... but ... he ... . splash, ker- flop I" . . . And with the last, convulsively ex- pelled word, a fresh outburst of laughter shook 124 ON THE EVE his whole frame. Zoya spurred him on still more. " I see his legs in the air," said she. . . . " Yes, yes," chimed in Uvar Ivanovitch,— " his legs, his legs . . . and then! and he went spla-ash ker-flop!" " Yes, and how did he manage it, for the Ger- man was twice as big as he? " asked Zoya. " I '11 tell you," — replied Uvar Ivanovitch, wiping his eyes, — " I saw him seize the man by his belt with one hand, thrust under his leg, and then, slap-dash! I hear: 'What's this?' . . . but he went splash, ker-flop ! " The equipages had been on their way for a long time, the castle of Tzaritzyno had long van- ished from sight, and still Uvar Ivanovitch could not calm down. Shiibin, who was again driving with him in the calash, became ashamed of him at last. And Insaroff felt conscience-stricken. He sat in the carriage opposite Elena (BerseneiF had placed himself on the box) and preserved silence: she, also, was silent. He thought that she was condemning him; but she was not con- demning him. She had been very greatly frightened at the first moment ; then she had been struck by the expression of his face; after that, she had been engaged in meditation. It was not quite clear to her what she was meditating about. The feeling which she had experienced during the course of the day had disappeared; 125 ON THE EVE she was conscious of this; but it had been re~ placed by something else which, as yet, she did not comprehend. The partie de plaisir had lasted too long: the evening had imperceptibly merged into night. The carriage rolled swiftly onward, past ripe fields, where the air was suf- focating and fragrant and redolent of grain, again past broad meadows, and their sudden coolness beat upon the face in a light wave. The sky seemed to be smoking at the edges. At last the moon floated up, dull and red. Anna Vasi- lievna was dozing ; Zoya was hanging out of the window, and gazing at the road. At last it oc- curred to Elena that she had not spoken to In- saroff for more than an hour. She turned to him with a trivial question: he immediately an- swered her joyously. Certain indefinite sounds began to be wafted through the air : JMoscow was hastening to meet them. Ahead of them twin- kled tiny points of light; their number kept constantly increasing; at last, the stones of the pavement rang beneath their wheels. Anna Vasi- lievna waked up ; all in the carriage began to talk, although not one of them was able to hear what the conversation was about, so loudly did the pavement resound beneath the two carriages and the thirty-two hoofs of the horses. Long and wearisome did the transit from JMoscow to Kiint- zovo appear; everybody was asleep or silent, with heads nestled in various corners; Elena 126 ON THE EVE alone did not close her eyes: she never re- moved them from Insaroff's dark figure. Mel- ancholy had descended upon Shubin: the breeze blew in his eyes, and irritated him; he muffled himself in the collar of his cloak, and all but wept. Uvar Ivanovitch was snoring blissfully, swaying to right and left. At last the equipages came to a halt. Two footmen carried Anna Vasilievna from the carriage; she was com- pletely done up, and announced to her fellow- travellers, as she took leave of them, that she was barely alive; they began to thank her, but she merely repeated: "Barely alive." Elena shook Insaroff's hand for the first time; and sat for a long time, without undressing, at her win- dow; while Shubin seized the opportunity to whisper to BersenefF as the latter departed: " Well, and why is n't he a hero? — he pitches drunken Germans into the water! " " But thou didst not do even that," — retorted Berseneff , and went home with InsarofF. The dawn was already invading the sky when the two friends regained their lodgings. The sun had not yet risen, but the chill had already set in, the grey dew covered the grass, and the first larks were carolling on high in the half -twi- light aerial abj^ss, whence, like a solitary eye, gazed one huge, last star. 127 XVI Shortly after Elena had made Insaroif 's ac- quaintance, she had (for the fifth or sixth time) begun a diary. Here are excerpts from that diary: " Jwne .... Andrei Petrovitch brings me books, but I cannot read them. I am ashamed to confess this to him; I do not wish to return the books, to he, to say that I have read them. It seems to me that that would grieve him. He notices everything in me. Apparently, he is very much attached to me. He is a very nice man, is Andrei Petrovitch. " . . . . What is it that I want.? Why is my heart so heavy, so languid? Why do I gaze with envy at the birds which flit past? I believe that I would like to fly with them, fly — whither I know not, only far away from here. And is not that desire sinful? Here I have a mother, a father, a family. Do not I love them? No ! I do not love them as I would like to love them. It is terrible for me to speak this out, but it is the truth. Perhaps I am a great sinner ; perhaps that is the reason why I am so sad, why I have no peace. Some hand or other lies heavy on me, is crushing me. It is as though I were in prison, and as though the walls were on the point of falling upon me. Why do not other people feel this? Whom shall I love, if I am cold to my own 128 ON THE EVE people? Evidently, papa is right: he accuses me of loving only dogs and cats. I must think this over. I pray but little; I must pray. . . . But it seems to me that I could love ! " .... I am still timid with Mr. Insaroff . I do not know why; I am not so very young, I think, and he is so simple and kind. He sometimes wears a very serious face. It must be that he has no time for us. I feel it, and I am ashamed, as it were, to rob him of his time. Andrei Petrovitch — is another matter. I am ready to chat with him all day long. But he keeps talking to me about Insaroff. And what terrible details ! I saw him in my dreams last night, with a dagger in his hand. And he seemed to say to me : * I will kill thee, and kill myself.' What nonsense ! " . . . . Oh, if some one would only say to me : ' Here, this is what thou shouldst do ! ' To be good — that is not enough; to do good . . . yes; that is the principal thing in life. But how shall I do good.'* Oh, if I could only control myself! I do not know why I think so often of Mr. Insaroff. When he comes, and sits, and listens attentively, but makes no effort himself, no fuss, I gaze at him, and find it agreeable — nothing more; but when he goes away, I keep recalling his words, and I am vexed with myself, and I even grow excited ... I know not why. (He speaks French badly, and is not ashamed of it — I like that. ) However, I always do think a great deal about new people. In chatting with him, I sud- denly recalled our butler Vasily, who dragged a helpless old man from a burning cottage, and came near perish- ing himself. Papa called him a fine fellow, mamma gave him five rubles, but I wanted to bow down at his feet. 129 ON THE EVE He had a simple, even a stupid face, and he became a drunkard afterward. " To-day I gave a copper coin to a poor woman, and she said to me : ' Why art thou so sad? ' And I did not even suspect that I had a sad aspect. I think it arises from the fact that I am alone, always alone, with all my good and all my bad. I have no one to whom I can give my hand. The one who approaches me is not the one I want, and the one I would Hke .... passes me by. " .... I do not know what is the matter with me to-day ; my head is in a snarl, I am ready to fall on my knees and beg and pray for mercy. I do not know who is doing it, or how it is being done, but it seems as though I were being murdered, and I shriek inwardly and rebel: I weep, and cannot hold my peace. . . . My God ! My God! quell thou these transports in me! Thou alone canst do this, all else is powerless: neither my insignifi- cant alms, nor occupations, nothing, nothing, notliing can help me. I would hke to go off somewhere as a servant, truly : I should feel more at ease. " What is the use of youth, why do I live, why have I a soul, to what end is all this.'' " . . . . Insaroff, Mr, InsarofF — I really do not know how to write — continues to occupy my thoughts. I would like to know what he has in his soul. Appar- ently, he is so frank, so accessible, yet notliing is visible to me. Sometimes he looks at me with eyes which seem to be scrutinising ... or is that only my fancy? Paul is constantly teasing me — I am angry with Paul. Wliat does he want? He is in love with me . . . but I do not want his love. He is in love with Zoya also. I am unjust 130 ON THE EVE to him ; he told me yesterday, that I did not know how to be unjust half-way . . . that is true. It is very wrong. " Akh, I feel that unhappiness is necessary to a man, or poverty, or illness, otherwise he grows arrogant at once. " . . . . Why did Andrei Pctrovitch tell me to-day about those two Bulgarians? It seemed as though he told me that with a purpose. What is Mr. Insaroff to me.'' I am angry with Andrei Petrovitch. " .... I take up my pen and do not know how to begin. How unexpectedly he talked with me in the gar- den to-day ! How affectionate and confidential he was ! How quickly this has come about ! It is as though we were old, old friends, and had only just recognised each other. How could I have failed to understand him hitherto ! How near he is to me now ! And this is the astonishing part of it: I have become much calmer now. I find it ridiculous: yesterday I was angry with Andrei Petrovitch, — at him, — I even called him Mr. Insaroff; but to-day . . . Here, at last, is an upright man ; here is some one on whom I can rely. This man does not lie: he is the first man I have met who does not lie: all the rest lie, lie continually. Andrei Petrovitch, dear and kind, why do I insult you ? No ! Andrei Petrovitch is more learned than he, perhaps, perhaps he is even cleverer, . . But, I do not know, he is such a small man beside him. When he speaks of his fatherland, he grows, and grows, and his face becomes handsome, and his voice is like steel, and it seems as though there were not a man in the world before whom he would lower his eyes. And he not only talks — he acts, and will act. I shall question him. . . . How suddenly he turned to me, and smiled at me ! . . . 131 ON THE EVE Only brothers smile in that way. Akh, how content I am ! When he came to us for the first time, I did not, in the least, think that he would become a close friend so soon ! And now it even pleases me that I remained indif- ferent that first time. Indifferent ! Can it be that I am not indifferent now? . . . " It is a long time since I felt such inward peace. It is so still within me, so still. And there is nothing to record. I see him often, that is all. What else is there to record? " . . . . Paul has shut himself in his room, Andrei Petrovitch has taken to coming more rarely .... Poor fellow ! it seems to me that he . . . however, that is im- possible. I love to talk with Andrei Petrovitch: never a word about himself, always something practical, use- ful. With Shubin the case is different. Shiibin is as gorgeously arrayed as a butterfly, and admires his ar- ray: butterflies do not do that. However, both Shubin and Andrei Petrovitch ... I know what I want to say. " . . . . He finds it agreeable to come to our house, I see that. But why? What has he found in me? Really, our tastes are similar: neither of us is fond of poetry: neither of us knows anything about art. But how much better he is than I am ! He is calm, I am in perpetual agitation; he has a road, a goal — but as for me, whither am I going? where is my nest? He is calm, but all his thougl^ts are far away. The time will come when he will leave us forever, and go away to his own land, yonder, beyond the sea. What of that? God grant he may ! Nevertheless, I shall be glad that I have known him while he was here. 132 ON THE EVE " Why is not he a Russian ? No, he cannot be a Rus- sian. " And mamma likes him. She says : * He is a modest man.' Kind mamma! She does not understand him. Paul holds his peace: he has divined that his hints are displeasing to me, but he is jealous of him. Wicked boy! And by what right.'* Have I ever " All this is nonsense ! Why does this keep coming into my head.'' " . . . . But it is really strange that so far, up to the age of twenty, I have never been in love with any one. It seems to me that D. (I shall call him D., I like that name: Dmitry) is so clear in soul because he has given himself wholly to his cause, to his dream. What is there for him to be agitated about.? He who has consecrated himself wholly . . . wholly .... wholly .... has little grief, he no longer is responsible for anything. It is not / who will ; it wills. By the way, he and I both love the same flowers. I plucked a rose to-day. One petal fell, he picked it up I gave him the whole rose. " . . . . D. comes often to us. Yesterday he sat here the whole evening. He wants to teach me Bul- garian. I felt at ease with him, as though at home. Better than at home. " . . . . The days fly I am both happy and, for some reason, apprehensive, and I feel like thanking God, and the tears are not far off'. O warm, bright days! " .... I still feel light of heart, as of yore, and only rarely a little sad. I am happy. Am 1 happy.? .... It will be long before I shall forget the 133 (( ON THE EVE jaunt of yesterday. What strange, novel, terrible im- pressions ! When he suddenly seized that giant and hurled him, like a small ball, into the water, I was not frightened .... but he frightened me. And after- ward — what an ominous, almost cruel face! How he said : ' He '11 swim out ! ' It upset me completely. It must be that I have not understood him. And then, when every one was laughing, when I laughed, how pained I felt for him ! He was ashamed, I felt that, — he was ashamed before me. He told me that, later on, in the carriage, in the darkness, when I tried to scrutinise him, and was afraid of him. Yes, one cannot jest with him, and he does know how to defend himself. But why that viciousness, why those quivering lips, that venom in the eyes.'' Or, perhaps it could not be otherwise. Is it impossible to be a man, a champion, and remain gentle and soft.'' Life is a harsh matter, he said to me not long ago. I repeated this remark to Andrei Petrovitch; he did not agree with D. Which of them is right.'' And how that day began ! How happy I was to walk by his side, even in silence. . . . But I am glad that it hap- pened. Evidently, it was as it should be. " . . . . Again uneasiness I am not quite well. " . . . . All these last days I have not recorded any- thing in this note-book, because I did not wish to write. I felt that, whatever I might write, it would not be what was in my soul. . . . And what is in my soul.'' I have had a long interview with him, which has revealed to me many things. He told me about his plans (by the way, I know now why he has that wound on the neck. . My God ! when I think that he was already condemned 134 ON THE EVE to death, that he barely escaped, that he was wounded ). He foresees a war, and rejoices at it. And, nevertheless, I have never seen D. so sad. What can he .... he! .... be sad about .f* Papa returned from the town, found us together, and gave us rather a strange look. Andrei Petrovitch came: I notice that he has grown very thin and pale. He reproached me for, as he said, treating Shubin too coldly and carelessly. But I had quite forgotten Paul. When I see him, I will try to repair my fault. But I am not in the mood for him now .... nor for any one in the world. Andrei Petrovitch talked to me with a sort of compassion. What is the meaning of all this.? Why is all around me and within me dark,? It seems to me, that around me and within me something enigmatic is in progress, that the answer must be sought .... " .... I did not sleep last night ; my head aches. Why should I write? He went away so soon to-day, and I wanted to talk to him He seems to shun me. Yes, he does shun me. " . . . . The answer is found, a light has dawned upon me ! O God ! have pity on rae. . . . I am in love ! " 135 XVII On the day when Elena inscribed this last, fate- ful word in her diary, Insaroff sat in BersenefF's room, and BersenefF stood before him with an expression of amazement on his face. InsarofF had just announced to him his intention to re- move to Moscow on the following day. "Good gracious!" — exclaimed Berseneff: — " the very finest part of the season is beginning. What will you do in Moscow? What a sudden decision! Or have you received some news? " " I have received no news," returned InsarofF — " but, according to my views, it is impossible for me to remain here." " But how is it possible " *' Andrei Petrovitch,"— said InsaroiF,— " be so good as not to insist, I entreat you. It pains me to part with you, but it cannot be helped." BerseneiF stared fixedly at him. " I know," — he said at last, — " you are not to be convinced. And so, the matter is settled? " " Completely settled,"— repHed InsarofF, ris- ing and withdrawing. BersenefF strode about the room, seized his hat, and betook himself to the StakhofFs. 136 ON THE EVE (< You have something to impart to me,** — Elena said to him, as soon as they were left alone together. " Yes; how did you guess? " " No matter. Tell me, what is it? " BersenefF communicated to her InsarofF's re- solve. Elena turned pale. " What does it mean? " — she articulated with difficulty. " You know," — said BersenefF, — " that Dmi- try Nikanorovitch does not like to give an ac- count of his actions. But I think .... Let us sit down, Elena Nikolaevna; you do not seem to be quite well .... I think I can guess the real cause of this sudden departure." " What— what is the cause? " repeated Elena, clasping BersenefF's hand tightly, without her- self being aware of it, in her hands, which had grown cold. " Well, you see,"~began Berseneff with a melancholy smile — " how shall I explain it to you? I must revert to last spring, to the time when I be- came more intimately acquainted with Insaroff. I then met him at the house of a relation ; this re- lation had a daughter, a very pretty young girl. It seemed to me that InsarofF was not indifFer- ent to her and I said so to him. He laughed, and answered me that I was mistaken, that his heart had not sufFered, but that he would go away at 137 ON THE EVE once, if anything of that sort should happen with him, as he did not wish — those were his very words — to betray his cause and his duty for the satisfaction of his personal feelings. ' I am a Bulgarian,' he said, ' and I want no Russian love.' " " Well . . . and do you .... now . . . ." whispered Elena, involuntarily turning away her head, like a person who is expecting a blow, but still not releasing BerseneiF's hand from her grasp. " I think " — he said, and lowered his voice — " I think that that has now happened which I then erroneously assumed." " That is to say . . . you think .... do not torture me! " — broke out Elena suddenly. " I think," — hastily went on BersenefF, — " that InsarofF has now fallen in love with a Rus- sian maiden, and, in accordance with his vow, he is resolved to flee." Elena gripped his hand still more tightly, and bent her head still lower, as though desirous of hiding from the sight of an outsider the flush of shame which overspread her whole face and neck with sudden flame. " Andrei Petrovitch, you are as kind as an angel," — she said, — " but, surely, he will come to bid us farewell? " " Yes, I assume that he will certainly come, be- cause he does not wish to go . . ." 138 ON THE EVE " Tell him, tell him . . . ." But here the poor girl broke down: tears streamed from her eyes, and she rushed from the room. " So that is how she loves him," thought Ber- seneff , as he slowly wended his way homeward. " I did not expect that; I did not expect that it was already so strong. I am kind, she says," — he continued his meditations . . . . " Who shall say by virtue of what feelings and motives I have communicated all this to Elena? But not out of kindness, not out of kindness. Is it that accursed desire to convince myself whether the dagger is still sticking in the wound? I must be content — they love each other, and I have helped them. . . . ' The future mediator between science and the Russian public,' Shiibin calls me ; evidently it is written in my destiny that I shall be a mediator. But what if I have made a mis- take? No, I have not. . . ." It was bitter for Andrei Petrovitch, and Rau- mer never entered his head. On the following day, at two o'clock, InsarofF presented himself at the StakliofFs. As though expressly at that hour, in Anna Vasilievna's drawing-room sat a neighbour, the wife of the arch-priest, who was a very kind and respectable woman, but had had a trifling unpleasantness with the police, because she had taken it into her head, at the very hottest part of the day, to bathe in 139 ON THE EVE a pond near a road along which the family of some influential general or other was wont to drive. The presence of an outsider was, at first, even agreeable to Elena, from whose face every drop of blood had fled as soon as she heard Insa- rofl"s tread; but her heart died within her at the thought that he might take leave without having spoken with her in private. He also appeared embarrassed, and avoided her gaze. "Is it pos- sible that he will take leave at once?" thought Elena. In fact, Insarofl* was on the point of ad- dressing Anna Vasflievna, when Elena rose, and hastily called him aside to the window. The arch-priest's wife was surprised, and tried to turn round; but she was so tightly laced that her cor- set squeaked at every movement she made. She remained motionless. " Listen," — said Elena hurriedly, — " I know why you are come; Andrei Petrovitch has told me of your intention; but I beg you, I entreat you, not to bid us farewell to-day, but to come hither to-morrow at an earher hour — about eleven o'clock. I must say a couple of words to you." Insarofl* inclined his head in silence. " I shall not detain you. . . . Do you promise me?" Again Insarofl* bowed, but said nothing. " Come here, Lenotchka," — said Anna Vasi- 140 ON THE EVE lievna, — " see here: what a splendid reticule the matushka ^ has ! " " I embroidered it myself," said the arch- priest's wife. Elena quitted the window. InsaroiF did not remain more than a quarter of an hour at the Staklioffs'. Elena watched him covertly. He fidgeted about on his seat as usual, did not know where to fix his eyes, and went away in a strange, abrupt manner, just as though he had vanished. The day passed slowly for Elena; still more slowly did the long, long night drag out its course. Elena, at times, sat on her bed, clasping her knees with her arms, and with her head resting on them; again she walked to the window, pressed her burning brow to the cold glass, and thought, thought, thought, until she was exhausted, the same thoughts, over and over again. Her heart had not precisely turned to stone, nor yet had it vanished from her breast ; she did not feel it, but the veins in her head throbbed violently, and her hair burned her, and her lips were parched. " He will come ... he did not bid mamma good-bye ... he will not deceive Can it be that An- drei Petrovitch spoke the truth? It cannot be. 1 Matushka— dear little mother— is the characteristic Russian form of address for women of all classes; but it is particularly applied to the wives of ecclesiastics. Bdtiushka — dear little father— is used, ger;- erally and specifically, in the same way. — Thaxslatob. 141 ON THE EVE .... He did not promise in words to come. . . Can it be that I have parted from him forever? " .... Such thoughts as these never quitted her . . . precisely that, never quitted her: they did not come, they did not return, — they surged to and fro incessantly within her, like a fog. — "He loves me I" suddenly flared up through all her being, and she stared intently into the gloom; a mysterious smile, unseen by any one, parted her lips but she instantly shook her head, laid the clenched fingers of her hand against her nape, and again, like a fog, the for- mer thoughts surged within her. Just before dawn, she undressed herself, and went to bed, but could not sleep. The first fiery rays of the sun beat into her room. ..." Oh, if he does love mel" — she suddenly exclaimed, and, un- abashed by the light which illuminated her, she stretched out her arms in an embrace. . . . She rose, dressed herself, went down-stairs. No one was awake in the house as yet. She went into the garden ; but in the garden it was so still, and green, and cool, the birds chirped so con- fidingly, the flowers gazed forth so gaily, that she felt uncomfortable.— "Oh!"— she thought, "if it is true, there is not a single blade of grass which is happier than I, — but is it true? " She returned to her chamber, and, for the sake of killing time, began to change her gown. But everything slipped and fell from her hands, and she was still 142 ON THE EVE sitting, half -clad, in front of her dressing-glass when she was summoned to drink tea. She went down-stairs; her mother observed her pallor, but said merely: " How interesting thou art to-day! " and, sweeping a glance over her, she added: " That gown is very becoming to thee ; thou shouldst al- ways put it on when thou hast a mind to please any one." Elena made no reply, and seated her- self in a corner. In the meanwhile, the clock struck nine; two hours still remained before eleven. Elena took up a book, then tried to sew, then took to her book again ; then she made a vow to herself that she would walk the length of one avenue one hundred times, and did it; then for a long time she watched Anna Vasilievna laying out her game of patience .... and glanced at the clock: it was not yet ten. Shiibin came into the drawing-room. She tried to talk to him, and begged him to excuse her, without knowing why she did so. . . . Her every word did not so much cost her an effort as it evoked in her a sort of surprise. Shiibin bent down to her. She ex- pected a jeer, raised her eyes, and beheld before her a sorrowful and friendly face. . . She smiled at that face. Shiibin also smiled at her in silence, and quietly left the room. She wanted to detain him, but did not inmiediately recall his name. At last the clock struck eleven. She began to wait, wait, wait, and listen. She could no longer do anything: she had ceased even to think. Her 143 ON THE EVE heart came to life, and began to beat more and more loudly, and, strange to say ! the time seemed to fly more swiftly. A quarter of an hour elapsed, half an hour passed, several minutes more passed, as it seemed to Elena; and suddenly she started: the clock did not strike twelve, it struck one. — " He will not come, he is going away without saying good-bye. . . ." This thought, together with the blood, rushed to her head. She felt that she was choking, that she was on the point of sobbing. . . . She ran to her room, and fell face down on her clasped hands on the bed. For half an hour she lay motionless; tears streamed between her fingers on the pillow. Suddenly she sat up: something strange had taken place in her ; her face underwent a change, her wet eyes dried of their own accord and beamed, her eyebrows drew together, her lips com- pressed themselves. Another half -hour passed. For the last time, Elena bent her ear to hear whether a familiar voice would be wafted to her. She rose, put on her hat and gloves, threw a man- tilla over her shoulders, and slipping unseen out of the house, she walked briskly along the road which led to BersenefF's lodging. 144 XVIII Elena walked along with drooping head and eyes fixed unswervingly in front of her. She feared nothing, she considered nothing; she wanted to see InsarofF once more. She walked on, without noticing that the sun had long since disappeared, veiled in heavy, dark clouds, that the wind was roaring in gusts among the trees and whirling her gown about, that the dust had risen suddenly, and was sweeping in a column along the road. . . . Large raindrops began to patter, she did not notice them ; but the rain came faster and faster, with constantly increasing violence, the lightning flashed, the thunder pealed. Elena halted, and glanced about her. . . . Fortunately for her, not far from the spot where the thunder- storm had overtaken her, there was an ancient, abandoned chapel, over a ruined well. She ran to it, and entered beneath the low shed. The rain poured down in torrents; the whole sky was ob- scured. With mute despair Elena stared at the fine network of swiftly falling drops. Her last hope of seeing InsarofF had vanished. A poor old beggar-woman entered the little chapel, shook herself, said with an obeisance, " Out of the rain, dear little mother," and, grunting and groaning, 145 ON THE EVE seated herself oi^ a projection beside the well. Elena put her hand in her pocket: the old woman observed the gesture, and hei* face, wrinkled and yellow, but once beautiful, lighted up. " Thank thee, my benefactor, my dear," she began. There was no purse in Elena's pocket, but the old woman still held her hand outstretched. . . . " I have no money, granny,"— said Elena,— " but here, take this, it will be of some use." She gave her her handkerchief. *' O-okh, my beauty," — said the beggar- woman, " of what use to me is thy little kerchieft None, unless to give to my granddaughter when she marries. May the Lord reward thee for thji kindness! " A clap of thunder pealed out. " O Lord Jesus Christ," muttered the beg- gar, and crossed herself thrice. — " But I think I 've seen thee before," — she added, after a pause. " Hast not thou given me Christ's alms? " Elena cast a glance at the old woman, and recognised her. *' Yes, granny,"— she replied.—" Didst not thou ask me why I was so sad? " " Just so, my dear, just so. That 's how I knew thee. And thou seemest to be living in affliction now also. Here, thy little handker- chief is damp — with tears, of course. Okh, you young girls, you all have one grief, one great woe! 146 ON THE EVE (( What grief, granny? " " What grief? Ekh, my good young lady, thou canst not dissemble with me, an old woman. For I have been young myself, my dear, I too have passed through those trials. Yes. And here 's what I will say to thee, for thy kindness: if a good man, not a giddy fellow, has fallen to thy lot, do thou cling to him — cling tighter than death. If it is to be, it will be; if it is not to be, evidently such is the will of God. Yes. Why art thou surprised at me? I 'm that same for- tune-teller. If thou wishest, I will carry away all thy woe with thy handkerchief! I '11 carry it away, and that 's the end of it. Seest thou, the rain is slackening; do thou wait a bit yet, but I will go on. It won't be the first time I 've been drenched by it. Now remember, my dear little dove: there was a grief, the grief has flowed away, there is not a trace of it. Lord, have mercy! " The beggar rose from the projection, emerged from the chapel, and went her way. Elena stared after her in amazement. " AVhat does it mean? " she whispered involuntarily. The rain descended in a steadily decreasing network, the sun flashed forth for a moment. Elena was already preparing to abandon her refuge. All at once, half a score of paces from the chapel, she beheld Insaroff*. Wrapped in his cloak, he was walking along the selfsame 147 ON THE EVE road by which Elena had come; he appeared to be hastening homeward. She braced herself with her hand on the de- crepit railing of the little porch, and tried to call him, but her voice failed her. . . . InsarofF was already passing on without raising his head "Dmitry Nikanorovitch ! " — she said at last. InsaroiF came to an abrupt halt, and glanced around At the first moment he did not recognise Elena, but he immediately advanced toward her. — " You! you here! " he exclaimed. She drew back, in silence, into the chapel. In- sarofF followed Elena. "You here?" — he repeated. Still she said nothing, and merely gazed at him with a sort of long, soft glance. He dropped his eyes. "You have come from our house?" — she asked him. " No . . . not from your house." "No?" — repeated Elena, and tried to smile. — " Is that the way you keep your promises? I have been expecting you all the morning." " I made no promise yesterday, if you remem- ber, Elena Nikolaevna." Again Elena smiled faintly, and passed her hand across her face. Both face and hand were very pale. — " Evidently, you meant to go away without saying good-bye to us? " " Yes," — said InsarofF, surlily and dully. 148 ON THE EVE "What? After our acquaintance, after those conversations, after everything. . . . Conse- quently, if I had not met you here by chance " (Elena's voice began to tremble, and she paused for a moment) ..." you would have gone away, and would not have pressed my hand for the last time, and you would not have regretted it?" InsarofF turned away. — " Elena Nikolaevna, please do not talk like that. Even without that, I am not in a cheerful mood. Believe me, my decision has cost me a great effort. If you knew " " I do not wish to know," — Elena interrupted him, in affright, — " why you are going. . . . Evidently, it is necessary. Evidently, we must part. You would not grieve your friends with- out cause. But do friends part in this way? For you and I are friends, are we not? " " No,"— said Insaroff. " What? . . ." said Elena. Her cheeks became suffused with a faint flush. " That is precisely the reason why I am going away, — that we are not friends. Do not force me to say that which I do not wish to say,— which I will not say." " You were frank with me in former days," ar- ticulated Elena, with a tinge of reproach. " I could be frank then,— I had nothing to hide; but now . . . ." 149 ON THE EVE " But now? " — asked Elena. " But now .... But now I must depart. Farewell." If, at that moment, Insaroff had raised his eyes to Elena, he would have perceived that her face was growing brighter and brighter, in pro- portion as he himself grew more frowning and lowering; but he stared persistently at the floor. " Well, good-bye, Dmitry Nikanoroviteh," — she began. — " But, at least, since we have already met, give me your hand now." Insaroff started to extend his hand. — *' No, I cannot do that, either," — he said, and again turned away. " You cannot? " " I cannot. Farewell." And he went toward the exit from the chapel. " Wait a little longer,"— said Elena.—" You seem to be afraid of me. But I am braver than you are," — she added with a sudden slight shiver coursing all over her body. — " I can tell you . . . would you like to have me ? . . . . why you have found me here? Do you know where I was gomg f Insarofl" looked at Elena in amazement. " I was going to you." "Tome?" Elena covered her face. — " You have wanted to make me say that I love you," — she whispered: — " there now .... I have said it." 150 ON THE EVE "Elena!"— cried Insaroff. She removed her hands, cast a glance at him, and threw herself on his breast. He held her in a close embrace, and remained silent. There was no need for him to tell her that he loved her. Elena could understand, from his mere exclamation, from the instantaneous trans- figuration of the whole man, from the way in which the bosom to which she clung so confidingly rose and fell, from the way in which the tips of his fingers caressed her hair, that she was beloved. He maintained silence, and she required no words. " He is here, he loves .... What more is needed? " The silence of bliss, the silence of a tranquil harbour, of a goal attained, that heavenly silence which imparts even to death itself both meaning and beauty, filled her whole being with its divine flood. She wished for nothing, because she possessed everything. — " Oh, my brother, my friend, my dear! " — whispered her lips, and she herself did not know whose heart it was, his or hers, which beat so sweetly and melted in her breast. And he stood motionless, he held in his strong embrace this young life which had surrendered it- self to him, he felt on his breast this new, infi- nitely precious burden: a feeling of emotion, a feeling of inexpressible gratitude, shattered his firm soul to dust, and tears, which he had never yet shed, welled up to his eyes 151 ON THE EVE But she did not weep ; she merely kept reiterat- ing: " Oh, my friend,— oh, my brother! " "So thou wilt follow me everywhere?" — he said to her, a quarter of an hour later, still hold- ing her, as before, in his embrace, and supporting her. " Everywhere, to the end of the world. Where thou art, there I shall be." " And thou art not deceiving thyself, thou knowest that thy parents will never consent to our marriage? " " I am not deceiving myself; I know it." " Thou knowest that I am poor, almost a beggar? " " Yes." " That I am not a Russian, that it is not de- creed that I shall dwell in Russia, that thou wilt be compelled to break all thy ties with thy father- land, with thy kin? " " I know, I know." " Thou knowest, also, that I have consecrated myself to a difficult cause, an ungrateful cause, that I . . . that we shall be forced to undergo not only dangers, but even privations,— humilia- tion, perchance? " " I know, I know everything .... I love thee I" " That thou wilt be obliged to abandon all thy habits,— that yonder, alone, among strangers, thou mayest be compelled, perhaps, to toil . . . ." 152 ON THE EVE She laid her hand on his hps. — " I love thee, my darling." He began passionately to kiss her slender, rosy hand. Elena did not remove it from his lips, and with a sort of childlike joy, with laughing curi- osity, she looked on while he covered now the hand, now its fingers, with kisses. . . . All at once she flushed scarlet, and hid her face on his breast. He raised her head caressingly, and gazed in- tently into her eyes. — " Long live my wife, before men and before God! " he said to her. 153 XIX An hour later, Elena, with her hat on one arm, her mantilla on the other, entered the drawing- room of the villa. Her hair was slightly out of curl, a tiny pink spot was visible on each cheek, the smile refused to depart from her lips, her eyes, blinking and half -shut, also smiled. She could hardly walk from fatigue, but this fatigue was agreeable to her, and everything pleased her. Everything seemed to her fair and caressing. Uvar Ivanovitch was sitting near the window; she went up to him, laid her hand on his shoulder, stretched herself a little, and laughed in an in- voluntary sort of way. " What is it? " he asked, in surprise. She did not know what to say. She wanted to kiss Uvar Ivanovitch. " Splash, ker-flop! " she said at last. But Uvar Ivanovitch did not move an eyelash, and kept on staring in astonishment at Elena. She dropped her hat and mantilla on him. " My dear Uvar Ivanovitch," — she said, — " I am sleepy, I am tired," — and again she began to laugh, and dropped into an arm-chair beside him. " H'm," — shouted Uvar Ivanovitch, and be- gan to twiddle his fingers. 154 ON THE EVE And Elena looked around her, and thought: — " I must soon part from all this . . . and it is strange : I have no fear, no doubt, no pity. . . . No, I am sorry for mamma! " Then again the chapel rose up before her, again her voice rang out, she felt his arms around her, her heart was glad, but stirred feebly: the languor of happi- ness lay upon it. She recalled the old beggar- woman. " She really did carry away all my woe," — she thought. " Oh, how happy I am! how undeserved it is ! how sudden ! " If she had let go of herself in the slightest degree, she would have shed sweet, interminable tears. She re- strained them only by laughing. Whatever atti- tude she assumed, it seemed to her that there could be none better, more easy : it was as though she were being rocked to sleep. All her move- ments were slow and soft; what had become of her precipitation, her angularity? Zoya entered: Elena decided that she had never beheld a more charming little face; Anna Vasilievna entered: Elena felt a prick of compunction, but with what tenderness did she embrace her kind mother, and kiss her on the brow, near the hair, which was already beginning to turn grey ! Then she betook herself to her own room: how everything smiled at her there! With what a sensation of shame- faced triumph and submission did she seat her- self on her bed, where, three hours before, she had spent such bitter moments ! " And, of course, I 155 ON THE EVE knew even then that he loved me," she thought, — " yes, and before that . . . Ai, no! no! that is a sin. ' Thou art my wife . . .' " she whispered, covering her face with her hands, and flung her- self on her knees. Toward evening she became more pensive. Sadness took possession of her at the thought that she would not soon see InsaroiF again. He could not remain with Berseneff without arous- ing suspicion, so this is what he and Elena had decided upon : Insaroif was to return to Moscow, and come to visit them a couple of times before the autmnn; she, on her side, had promised to write him letters, and, if possible, appoint a meeting somewhere in the neighbourhood of Kiintzovo. At tea-time she descended to the drawing-room, and found there all her own house- hold, and Shiibin, who looked keenly at her as soon as she made her appearance; she wanted to chat with him, in a friendly way, but, as of old, was afraid of his penetration, was afraid of her- self. It struck her that not for nothing had he left her in peace for more than two weeks. Ber- seneff soon arrived, and transmitted to Anna Vasilievna InsarofF's greeting, together with his apologies for having returned to Moscow, with- out having presented his respects to her. The name InsarofF was uttered, for the first time that day, in Elena's presence; she felt that she blushed; she understood, at the same time, that 15G ON THE EVE it was proper for her to express her regret at the departure of so good an acquaintance: but she could not force herself to dissimulate, and con- tinued to sit motionless and silent, while Anna Vasilievna moaned and grieved. Elena tried to keep near BersenefF: she was not afraid of him, although he knew a part of her secret; she sought refuge under his wing from Shiibin, who continued to stare at her — not sneeringly, but at- tentively. BersenefF, also, was overcome by sur- prise in the course of the evening: he had ex- pected to see Elena more melancholy. Happily for her, a dispute about art arose between him and Shiibin — she moved away, and listened to their voices as though athwart a dream. Gradu- ally, not only they, but the whole room, every- thing which surrounded her, began to seem to her like a dream — everything: the samovar on the table, and Uvar Ivanovitch's short waistcoat, and Zoya's smooth finger-nails, and the portrait in oils on the wall of Grand Duke Konstantin Pav- lovitch, everything retreated, everything became shrouded in a mist, everything ceased to exist. Only, she felt sorry for them all. " What do they live for? " she thought. " Art thou sleepy, Lenotchka? " — ^her mother asked her. She did not hear her mother's ques- tion. " A half -just suggestion, dost thou say? "... These words, sharply uttered by Shubin, sud- 157 ON THE EVE denly aroused Elena's attention. " Good gra- cious," — he went on, — " that is what taste itself consists of. A half -just suggestion evokes de- spondency, — that is not according to Christian- ity; man is indifferent to the unjust, — that is stupid,— but he feels vexation and impatience at the half -just. For instance, if I were to say that Elena Nikolaevna is in love with one of us, what sort of a suggestion would that be, eh? " "Akh, Monsieur Paul," — said Elena, "I would like to show you my vexation, but really I cannot. I am very tired." " Why dost not thou go to bed? " — said Anna Vasilievna, who always dozed in the evening her- self, and therefore liked to send others to bed. — " Bid me good-night, and go under God's pro- tection, — Andrei Petrovitch will excuse thee." Elena kissed her mother, bowed to all, and left the room. Shiibin escorted her to the door. — " Elena Nikolaevna," — he whispered to her on the way : " You trample upon Monsieur Paul, you walk pitilessly over him, but Mon- sieur Paul blesses you, and your little feet, and the shoes on your Httle feet, and the soles of your shoes." Elena shrugged her shoulders, unwillingly offered him her hand — not the one which Insa- roff had kissed — and, on reaching her room, she 158 ON THE EVE undressed at once, went to bed, and fell asleep. Her slumber was profound, tranquil such as not even children have; only a convales- cent child, whose mother is sitting beside his cradle, gazing at him and listening to his breath- ing, sleeps in that way. 159 XX " Come to my room for a minute," — said Shu- bin to Berseneff , as soon as he had bidden Anna Vasilievna good-night: — " I have something to show thee." Berseneff went to his room in the wing. He was surprised at the multitude of studies, statu- ettes, and busts, enveloped in damp cloths, and set about in all corners of the room. " I see that thou art at work in earnest,"— he remarked to Shubin. " A fellow must do something," — replied the latter. — " If one thing does n't succeed, another must be tried. However, I, like a Corsican, oc- cupy myself more with the vendetta than with pure art. Treme Bisanzia! " I do not understand thee," — said Berseneff. Just wait. See here, please to inspect, my dear friend and benefactor, my vengeance num- ber one." Shubin removed the wrappings from one figure, and Berseneff beheld a capital bust of In- saroff , with an excellent resemblance to the orig- inal. Shubin had seized the features faithfully, to the very smallest detail, and had imparted 160 ON THE EVE to him a magnificent expression: honourable, noble, and bold. Berseneff went into raptures. " Why, this is simply splendid! " — he cried. — " I congratulate thee. It is fit for the exhibition! Why dost thou call this a magnificent product of revenge? " " Why, sir, because I intend to present this magnificent product, as you are pleased to ex- press it, to Elena Nikolaevna, on her name-day. Do you understand this allegory? We are not blind, we see what goes on around us, but we are gentlemen, my dear sir, and we take our revenge in a gentlemanly way." " And here," — added Shubin, unveiling an- other figure, — " since the artist, according to the newest code of aesthetics, enjoys the enviable right of incarnating in his own person all sorts of tur- pitudes, elevating them to a pearl of creation, so we, in elevating this pearl, number two, have avenged ourselves not at all after a gentlemanly fashion, but simply en canaille." He cleverly pulled away the sheet, and there presented itself to the eyes of Berseneff a statu- ette, in Dantesque taste, of that same Insaroff . Anything more malicious and witty it would have been impossible to imagine. The young Bul- garian was represented as a ram rearing on its hind legs and inclining its horns to butt. Stupid dignity, passion, stubbornness, awkwardness, lim- 101 ON THE EVE itedness, were fairly stamped upon the physiog- nomy of " the spouse of thin-legged sheep," and, at the same time, the likeness was so striking, so indubitable, that BersenefF could not help roar- ing with laughter. "Well? Is it amusing? "—said Shiibin;— " hast recognised the hero? Dost thou advise me to send that to the exhibition also ? This, my dear fellow, I shall present to myself on my own name- day Your High-Born, permit me to cut a caper! " And Shubin gave three leaps, hitting himself behind with the soles of his shoes. BersenefF picked up the sheet from the floor, and threw it over the statuette. " Okh, thou art magnanimous," began Shubin. — " Who the deuce is it, in history, who is con- sidered particularly magnanimous? Well, never mind I But now,"— he went on, solemnly and sadly unwrapping a third, rather large mass of clay,—" thou shalt behold something which shall prove to thee the meekness and perspicacity of thy friend. Thou shalt convince thyself, once more, how a true artist feels the need and the ben- efit of boxing his own ears. Behold ! " The sheet fluttered in the air, and Berseneff beheld two heads, j)laced side by side and close together, as though they had grown fast He did not immediately comprehend the point; but, on looking more closely, he recognised in one of them Annushka, and in the other Shubin 162 ON THE EVE himself. They were, however, caricatures rather than portraits. Annushka was represented as a handsome, plump girl with a low brow, eyes swimming in fat, and a saucily upturned nose. Her large lips smiled brazenly; her whole face expressed sensuality, heedlessness, and audacity not devoid of good-nature. Shiibin had depicted himself as a gaunt, lean reveller, with sunken cheeks, feebly dangling wisps of thin hair, a senseless expression in his dim eyes, and a nose sharpened like that of a corpse. BersenefF turned away in disgust. " A pretty couple, is n't it, brother? "—said Shubin.— " Wilt not thou condescend to write an appropriate inscription? I have devised inscrip- tions for the first two pieces. Under the bust will stand : ' A Hero who intends to save his Fatherland! '—Under the statuette: 'Sausage- makers, beware!' And under this piece— what thinkest thou of this?—' The future of the artist Pavel Yakovleif Shubin.' .... Is that good? " " Stop,"— returned BersenefF.—" Was it worth while to waste time on such "he could not immediately hit upon a fitting word. "An odious thing, didst thou mean to say? No, brother, pardon me, if anything is to go to the exhibition, it should be this group." " An odious thing, that 's precisely what it is," — repeated BersenefF. — " And why this non- sense? Thou hast not in thee those pledges for such a development wherewith, unhappily, our 163 ON THE EVE artists are so abundantly gifted. Thou hast sim- ply calumniated thyself." " Dost thou think so? " — said Shubin gloomily. — " If they do not exist in me, and if I get inocu- lated with them, ... a certain person will be responsible for it. Art thou aware," — he added, with a tragic frown, — " that I have already tried to drink?" "Art thou lying?" " I have tried— by God! I have,"— returned Shubin, and suddenly grinned and beamed,— " and it tastes bad, brother, it gets into your throat, and your head is like a drum afterward. Even the great Lushtchikin— Kharlampy Lush- tchikin, the greatest funnel in Moscow, and, ac- cording to others, the ' Great-Russian Funnel '— declared that I should never come to anything. The bottle is nothing to me, according to his words." Berseneff tried to deal a blow at the group, but Shubin withheld him. — " Enough, brother, don't strike; it 's good as a lesson, as a scarecrow." Berseneif began to laugh. " In that case, all right, I '11 spare thy scare- crow," — said he — " and long live eternal, pure art!" " Yes, long may it live! " — chimed in Shubin. — " With it good is better, and bad is no ca- lamity!" The friends shook hands warmly, and parted. 164 XXI Elena's first sensation, on awaking, was joyful terror. "Is it possible? Is it possible?" she asked herself, and her heart swooned with hap- piness. Memories surged in upon her .... she was submerged by them. Then again, that same blissful, enraptured silence overshadowed her. But in the course of the morning, Elena was gradually invaded by uneasiness, and during the days which followed she felt weary and bored. She knew now what she wanted, it is true, but that made it none the easier for her. That never- to-be-forgotten meeting had wrenched her for- ever out of the old rut: she no longer stood in it, she was far away, and yet everything around her went on in its customary routine, everything took its course, as though nothing were changed ; the former life moved on as before; as formerly, Elena's sympathy and co-operation were counted upon. She tried to begin a letter to InsarofF, but even that did not succeed : the words came out on the paper, not exactly dead, but false. She ended her diary: underneath the last hne she drew a large dash. That was the past, and with all her thoughts, with all her being, she had gone on into 165 ON THE EVE the future. She was ill at ease. To sit with her mother, who suspected nothing, to listen to her, to answer her — to talk with her — seemed to Elena a sort of crime ; she was conscious of the presence in herself of something false; she grew agitated, although she had nothing to blush for ; more than once there arose in her soul an almost uncon- querable desire to reveal everything, without re- serve, no matter what might happen afterward. " Why," she thought, " did not Dmitry carry me off then, from the chapel, whithersoever he wished? Did not he tell me that I am his wife in the sight of God? Why am I here?" She suddenly began to avoid every one, even Uvar Ivanovitch, who was more amazed and wiggled his fingers more than ever. Nothing around her seemed to her either pleasing, or nice, or even a dream; like a nightmare it oppressed her breast with an immovable, dead burden : it seemed to be reproaching her, and raging at her, and wanting to have nothing to do with her. ..." Thou art ours, nevertheless," it seemed to say. Even her poor nurslings, the persecuted birds and beasts, gazed at her — at least, so it seemed to her — distrustfully and in hostile wise. She be- came remorseful and ashamed of her feelings. " But this is my home, all the same," she thought; " my family, my native land. . ." — " No, it is no longer thy native land, it is not thy family," —another voice kept asserting. Terror took pos- 166 ON THE EVE session of her, and she was vexed at her pusilla- nimity. The mischief was only beginning, and she had already lost patience. . . Was that what she had promised? She did not speedily regain control of herself. But one week passed, then another. . . . Elena had recovered her composure somewhat, and had grown used to her new position. She wrote two little notes to Insaroif , and carried them herself to the post-office: not on any account— both be- cause of bashfulness and from pride — could she have made up her mind to confide in her maid. She had already begun to expect him. . . But in his stead, one fine morning, Nikolai Artemie- vitch made his appearance. 167 XXII No one in the household had ever yet heheld re- tired Ensign of the Guards Stakhoff so sour and, at the same time, so self-confident and pompous as on that day. He came into the drawing-room in overcoat and hat,— came in slowly, planting his legs w4de apart, and clicking his heels ; he walked up to the mirror, and gazed long at himself, shak- ing his head and biting his lips with calm severity. Anna Vasilievna greeted him with outward ex- citement and inward joy (she never greeted him otherwise) ; he did not even take off his hat, did not even bid her good-morning, and silently per- mitted Elena to kiss his chamois-leather glove. Anna Vasilievna began to question him about his course of treatment — he made her no reply ; Uvar Ivanovitch made his appearance, — he glanced at him and said: " Ba! " As a rule, he treated Uvar Ivanovitch coldly and condescendingly, although he recognised in him " traces of the genuine Sta- khoff blood." It is a well-known fact that almost all Russian noble families are convinced of the existence of exclusive race characteristics, pecu- liar to them alone : more than once it has been our lot to hear discussions " among our own people " concerning " Podsalaskinsky " noses, and " Pe- 168 ON THE EVE repryeevsky " napes. Zoya came in, and made a curtsey before Nikolai Artemievitch. He grunted, threw himself into an arm-chair, ordered coffee, and only then did he take off his hat. The coffee was brought to him; he drank a cup- ful and, gazing at each person present in turn, articulated through his teeth : " Soriez, sil vous plait" and turning to his wife, he added: " Et vous J madame, restez, je vous prie." All left the room, with the exception of Anna Vasilievna. Her head was trembling with ex- citement. The solemnity of Nikolai Artemie- vitch's mien impressed her. She expected some- thing unusual. " What is it? " she cried, as soon as the door was shut. Nikolai Artemievitch cast an indifferent glance at Anna Vasilievna. " Nothing in particular. What do you mean by putting on the aspect of some sort of a vic- tim? " he began, quite unnecessarily pulling down the corners of his mouth at every word. — '* I only wanted to warn you that you will have a new guest at dinner to-day." " Who is it? " " Kurnatovsky, Egor Andreevitch. You do not know him. Chief secretary in the Senate." " Is he to dine with us to-day? " " Yes." " And it was merely for the purpose of saying 169 ON THE EVE this to me that you have made every one leave the room i Again Nikolai Artemievitch cast a glance at Anna Vasilievna, — this time an ironical glance. " Does that surprise you? Wait a bit, before you are surprised." He relapsed into silence. Anna Vasilievna also preserved silence for a while. " I should like . . . ." she began .... " I know that you have always regarded me as an ' immoral ' man," — ^began Nikolai Artemie- vitch suddenly. "I!" murmured Anna Vasilievna, in amaze- ment. " And perhaps you are right. I do not wish to deny that, as a matter of fact, I have some- times given you just cause for dissatisfaction " ("The grey horses! " flashed through Anna Vasi- lievna's head), — "although you must confess, yourself, that with the well-known state of your constitution . . . ." " But I am not blaming you in the least, Niko- lai Artemievitch." "" C'est possible. At any rate, I have no inten- tion of justifying myself to-day. Time will jus- tify me. But I consider it my duty to assure you that I know my obligations, and am capable also of looking out .... for the interests of .... the family which has been confided to my care." 170 ON THE EVE " What does all this mean? " thought Anna Vasilievna. (She could not know that, on the previous evening, in the English Club, in one cor- ner of the divan-room, a dispute had arisen as to the lack of capacity on the part of Russians to make speeches. " Which of us knows how to talk? Just name some one? " one of the dispu- tants had exclaimed. — " Why, here 's Stakhoff, for instance," — the other had replied, and had pointed to Nikolai Artemievitch, who was stand- ing near by, and who almost squeaked aloud with satisfaction.) " For example," — pursued Nikolai Artemie- vitch, — " there 's my daughter Elena. Don't you think that it is time for her to walk with firm tread in the pathway ... to marry, I mean to say. All these philosophisings and philan- thropies are good enough in their way, but only to a certain degree, only to a certain age. It is time for her to come out of the clouds, to emerge from the society of divers artists, scholars, and some Montenegrins or other, and do as every- body else does." " How am I to understand your words? " asked Anna Vasilievna. " Here now, be so good as to listen to me," — replied Nikolai Artemievitch, pulling down his lips as before. — " I will tell you plainly, with- out circumlocution: I have made acquaintance with — I have become intimate with — this young 171 ON THE EVE man, Mr. Kurnatovsky, in the hope of having him for my son-in-law. I venture to think that, when you have seen him, you will not accuse me of partiality or of precipitancy of judgment." (Nikolai Artemievitch admired his own elo- quence as he talked.) "He is excellently edu- cated, a lawyer, with fine manners, thirty-three years of age, chief secretary, collegiate council- lor, and wears the order of St. Stanislaus on his neck. You will, I hope, do me the justice to admit that I am not one of those peres de come- die who rave over rank alone; but you yourself have told me that Elena Nikolaevna likes active, resolute men: Egor Andreevitch is the most active man in his profession; now, on the other hand, my daughter has a weakness for magnani- mous deeds: so you must know that Egor An- dreevitch, just as soon as he attained the possi- bility—you understand me, the possibility— of existing comfortably on his salary, immediately refused, in the interests of his brothers, to make use of the annual allowance assigned to him by his father." " And who is his father? " asked Anna Vasi- lievna. " His father? His father is also a famous man in his way, of the highest integrity, un vrai sto- ique, a retired major, I believe, and manager of all the estates of the Counts B . . . ." " Ah! " said Anna Vasilievna. 172 ON THE EVE " Ah! weU: what does ' Ah! ' mean? " Nikolai Artemievitch caught her up. — " Do you mean to say that you are infected with prejudices? " " Why, I did not say anything," — began Anna Vasilievna. " Yes, you did; you said: ' Ah! ' ... At any rate, I have considered it necessary to forewarn you of my way of thinking, and I venture to opine .... I venture to hope that Mr. Kurna- tovsky will be received a hras ouverts. He 's no obscure Montenegrin." " Of course; only, I must summon Vanka, the cook, and order him to add a course." " You understand that I do not enter into that," — said Nikolai Artemievitch, rising and putting on his hat, and whistling as he went (he had heard some one say that it is proper to whistle only in one's own house in the country and in the military-riding-school), he strode off for a stroll in the garden. Shubin peeped at him from the little window of his wing, and silently thrust out his tongue at him. At ten minutes to four, a posting-carriage drove up to the door of the Stakhoffs' villa, and a man still young, of comely aspect, simply and elegantly attired, alighted from it and ordered that his arrival be announced. He was Egor Andreevitch Kurnatovsky. This, among other things, was what Elena wrote to Insaroff on the following day: 173 ON THE EVE " Congratulate me, dear Dmitry, I have a suitor. He dined with us last night ; papa made his acquaintance at the English Club, I believe, and invited him. Of course, he did not come as a suitor yesterday. But kind mamma, to whom papa had confided his hopes, whispered in my ear what sort of a visitor he was. His name Is Egor Andreevitch Kurnatovsky; he serves as chief secretary in the Senate. I will first describe to thee his personal appearance. He is short of stature, not so tall as thou art, well built ; his features are regular, his hair is closely cut, he wears large side-whiskers. His eyes are small (like thine), brown, alert; his lips flat, broad; in his eyes and on his lips is a perpetual smile, a sort of official smile, as though it were his duty. His manner is very simple, he speaks distinctly, and everything about him is distinct: he walks, laughs, eats, as though he were doing business. ' How she has studied him ! ' thou art thinking, perchance, at this moment. Yes ; in order that I might describe him to thee. And then, how can one help studying one's suitor. There is something iron about him . . . and something dull and empty at the same time — and honourable; they say that he really is very honourable. At table, he sat next to me, and op- posite sat Shiibin. At first the conversation turned on certain commercial enterprises: they say he is versed in such things, and came near throwing up his position in order to take charge of a large factory. He made a mistake in not doing it ! Then Shiibin began to talk about the theatre; Mr. Kurnatovsky declared — and, I must admit, without any false modesty — that he understood nothing about art. That reminded me of thee . . . but I thought : ' No, after all, Dmitry and I fail to under- 174 ON THE EVE stand art in another way.' This man seemed to be trying to say : ' I do not understand it, and it is unnecessary, but it is permitted in a well-ordered realm.' Toward Petersburg, and the comme il faut, however, he is rather indifferent: he once even called himself a proletarian. * I 'm a common labourer,' he said. I thought: 'If Dmitry had said that, it would not have pleased me, but let this man have his say ! let him brag ! ' He was very courteous toward me ; but it seemed to me, all the while, as though a very, very condescending superior official were talking to me. When he wishes to praise any one, he says that So-and-so has principles, — that is his fa- vourite expression. He must be self-confident, industri- ous, capable of self-sacrifice (thou seest : I am impartial), that is to say, in the matter of sacrificing his advantages, but he is a great despot. It would be a calamity to fall into his power ! After dinner, they talked about bribes .... " ' I can understand,' said he, ' that, in many cases, the man who takes a bribe is not to blame : he could not act otherwise. But, nevertheless, if he is caught he must be crushed.' *' I exclaimed : — ' Crush an innocent man ! ' " ' Yes, for the sake of the principle.' " ' Which one ? ' inquired Shubin. Kurnatovsky was not exactly disconcerted, nor yet precisely astonished, and said : ' There 's no use in explaining it.' " Papa, who appears to worship him, chimed in, and said that, of course, it was useless, and, to my vexation, that conversation came to an end. In the evening, Ber- senefF came, and got into a frightful wrangle with him. Never before have I beheld our kind Andrei Petrovitch 175 ON THE EVE in such a state of excitement. Mr. Kurnatovsky did not in the least deny the benefits of science, universities, and so forth . . . yet I understood Andrei Petrovitch's wrath. He looks on all that as a sort of gymnastics. Shubin approached me after dinner, and said : ' This man, and a certain other ' (he can never utter your name) * are both practical persons, but behold, what a difference ! There is the genuine, living ideal, furnished by life ; while here there is not even the sense of duty, but simply official honesty and activity without underpinning.' — Shubin is clever, and I remembered his words for thee; but, in my opinion, what is there in common between you.'' Thou believest, and the other man does not, because it is impossible to believe in one^s self alone. " It was late when he went away, but mamma contrived to inform me that he was pleased with me, that papa was in raptures .... I wonder if he has not already said of me that I ' have principles ' ? And I came near answering mamma, that I was very sorry, but that I already had a husband. Why is it that papa dislikes thee so much.? Mamma might have managed, somehow or other .... " Oh, my dear one ! I have described this gentleman to thee so circumstantially in order to stifle my anguish. I cannot live without thee, — I see thee, hear thee con- stantly .... I await thee, only not in our house, as thou hast wished, — imagine, how painful and awkward it would be for us! — but, thou knowest, where I wrote thee, in that grove . . . Oh, my darling! How I love thee!" 176 XXIII Theee weeks after Kurnatovsky's first visit, Anna Vasilievna, to the great joy of Elena, re- moved to Moscow, to her great wooden house near the Pretchistenka, — a house with columns, white lyres and wreaths over every window, a second partial storey, servants' quarters, a front garden, and a huge, verdant courtyard with a well in the yard and dog-kennels beside the well. Anna Vasilievna had never returned from her country villa so early, but that year there was an epidemic of influenza when the first frosts of autumn set in ; Nikolai Artemievitch, on his side, having finished his course of treatment, had be- gun to yearn for his wife; moreover, Augustina Christianovna had gone away to visit her cousin in Revel: some foreign family or other had arrived in Moscow, and was exhibiting plastic poses, des poses plastiques, the description of which, in the Moscow News, had greatly excited the curiosity of Anna Vasilievna. In short, further sojourn in the villa was incon- venient, and even, as Nikolai Artemievitch phrased it, incompatible with the execution of his 177 ON THE EVE " previous plans." The last two weeks seemed very long to Elena. Kurnatovsky came a couple of times, on Sundays : on other days he was occu- pied. He came specifically for Elena, but talked more with Zoya, who liked him very much. ^' Das ist ein Mannf she thought to herself, as she gazed at his swarthy, manly countenance, and listened to his self-confident, condescending speeches. In her opinion, no one had such a won- derfully fine voice, no one understood so wtII how to utter: " I had the hon-n-nour! " or, " I am very glad." InsarofF did not come to the Stakhoffs, but Elena saw him once, by stealth, in the little grove, close to the Moscow River, where she had appointed the meeting. They barely managed to exchange a few words with each other. Shu- bin returned to Moscow in company with Anna Vasilievna; BersenefF, a few days later. InsarofF was sitting in his chamber, and for the third time re-reading letters which had been brought to Iiim from Bulgaria by private hand: they were afraid to send them by the post. He was greatty startled by them. Events were devel- oping swiftly in the East: the occupation of the principality by the Russian army had agitated all minds; a thunder-storm was bre^\ang, the breath of war, close at hand, inevitable, was al- ready perceptible. The conflagration was in- creasing round about, and no one could foresee how far it would reach, where it would stop; 178 ON THE EVE ancient griefs, long-cherished hopes — ever^iJiing was beginning to stir. InsarofF's heart beat vio- lently: and his hopes also had been reahzed. "But is it not too early? is it not futile?" he thought, as he clenched his hands. " We are not ready yet.— But so be it! I must go." There was a faint rattling outside the door, it opened swiftly — and Elena entered the room. InsarofF began to tremble all over, rushed to her, fell on his knees before her, embraced her waist, and pressed his head close to it. " Thou didst not expect me? " — she said, pant- ing for breath. ( She had run swiftly up-stairs. ) " My darling! my darling! — So this is where thou livest? I found thee quickly. The daughter of thy landlady showed me the way. We came to town day before yesterday. I wanted to write to thee, but thought it would be better to come myself. I have come to thee for a quarter of an hour. Rise, lock the door." He rose, hurriedly locked the door, returned to her, and took her hands. He could not speak, he was suffocating with joy. She gazed into his eyes with a smile There was so much happiness in them .... She was abashed. *' Wait," — she said affectionately, drawing her hands away from him. She untied the ribbons of her hat, flung it aside, dropped the mantilla from her shoulders, smoothed her hair, and seated herself on the small, 179 ON THE EVE ancient divan. Insaroff did not stir, and gazed at her as though enchanted. " Sit down," — said she, without raising her eyes to his, and pointing to a place by her side. Insaroff seated himself, only not on the divan, but on the floor at her feet. " Here, take off my gloves," — she said, in a wavering voice. She was beginning to feel alarmed. He set to work first to unbutton, then to draw off one glove, pulled it half-way off, and glued his lips hungrily to the slender, delicate wrist which shone white beneath it. Elena trembled, and tried to push him away with the other hand,— he began to kiss the other hand. Elena drew it toward her, he threw back his head, she looked into his face, bent forward — and their lips melted together .... A moment passed .... She tore herself away, rose, whispered, " No, no," and walked swiftly to the writing-table. " I am the mistress of the house, here, so thou must have no secrets from me,"— she said, en- deavouring to appear at her ease, and standing with her back toward him.—" What a lot of pa- pers! What letters are these?" Insaroff frowned. — " These letters? " — he said, rising from the floor.—" Thou may est read them." Elena turned them over in her hand.— "There 180 ON THE EVE are so many of them, and they are written in such fine script, and I must go away directly .... I care nothing for them! They are not from my rival? . . . Why, they are not in Russian," — she added, as she looked over the thin sheets. InsarofF approached her, and touched her waist. She suddenly turned toward him, smiled brightly at him, and leaned on his shoulder. " These letters are from Bulgaria, Elena: my friends write me, they summon me." "Now? Thither?" " Yes .... now. There is still time, it is still possible to pass through." Suddenly she flung both arms about his neck. — " Thou wilt take me with thee, wilt thou not? " He pressed her to his heart. — " O, my dear girl, O my heroine, how hast thou uttered that word ! But would not it be a sin, would not it be madness on my part, for me, a homeless, solitary man, to carry thee away with me? . . . And to what a place, moreover! " She put her hand on his mouth.— " Hush-sh! ... or I shall get angry, and never come to see thee again. Is not everything settled, is not everything finished between us? Am not I thy wife? Does a wife part from her husband?" " Wives do not go to war," — he said, with a half -melancholy smile. " Yes, when they can stay behind. But can I remain here? " 181 ON THE EVE "Elena, thou art an angel! . . . But reflect, perhaps I shall be forced to leave Moscow .... within a fortnight. I can no longer think of uni- versity lectures or of completing my work." "What of that?" interrupted Elena.— "Thou must go away soon? Why, if thou wishest it, I will remain with thee now, this very moment, for- ever with thee, and I will not return home, — wilt thou have it so ? Let us set off at once, shall we ? " InsarofF clasped her in his arms with re- doubled power. — " May God punish me," he cried, — " if I am doing an evil deed! From this day forth, we are united forever! " " Am I to remain? " — asked Elena. " No, my pure girl ; no, my treasure. To-day thou art to return home, but hold thyself in readi- ness. This is an affair which cannot be executed at once; it must be well thought out. Money is needed, a passport " "I have money,"— interrupted Elena: "eighty rubles." " Well, that is not much," — remarked Insa- roff : — " but everything is useful." "But I can get more, I can borrow, I can ask mamma .... No, I will not ask her .... But I can sell my watch .... I have earrings, two bracelets, . . . lace." " It is not a question of money, Elena ; the passport, thy passport, what are we to do about that? " 182 ON THE EVE " Yes, what are we to do about that? But is a passport indispensably necessary? " " Yes." Elena burst out laughing. — " What an idea has occurred to me ! I remember, when I was still a little girl, .... a chambermaid left us. She was caught and forgiven; she Hved a long time with us ; . . . yet every one called her ' Tatyana the Runaway.' I did not think, then, that per- haps I should be a runaway also, like her." " Art not thou ashamed of thyself, Elena! " "Why? Of course, it is better to go with a passport. But if that is impossible . . ." " We will arrange all that hereafter, hereafter. Wait,"— said InsarofF.— "Only give me a chance to look about me, to think it over. We will dis- cuss it all together, in proper fashion. And I have money." Elena pushed back with her hand the hair which had fallen over his brow.—" Oh, Dmitry! won't it be jolly to go away together? " " Yes," — said InsarofF: " and yonder, whither we are going . . . ." "Well?"— interposed Elena: "will it not be jolly to die together? but no, why should we die? we shall live, we are young. How old art thou? Twenty-six?" " Yes." " And I am twenty. We have a great deal of time ahead of us. All! didst thou intend to run 183 ON THE EVE away from me? Thou didst not want Russian love, thou Bulgarian ! Let us see now, how thou wilt get rid of me ! But what would have hap- pened to us, if I had not come to thee?" "Elena, thou knowest what made me go away." "I know: thou hadst fallen in love, and wert frightened. But is it possible that thou didst not suspect that thou wert beloved ? " " I swear by my honour, Elena, I did not." She gave him a swift and unexpected kiss. — *' That 's why I love thee. And now, good-bye." " Canst not thou remain longer? " asked In- saroff. " No, my darling. Dost thou think that it was easy for me to get away alone ? The quarter of an hour is long past." — She put on her mantilla and hat. — " And do thou come to us to-morrow evening. No, the day after to-morrow. It will be constrained, tiresome, but there is no help for it: at least, we shall see each other. Good-bye. Let me go." — He embraced her for the last time. — " Ai ! look, thou hast broken my chain. Oh, how awkward ! Well, never mind. So much the better. I will pass along the Smiths' Bridge, and leave it to be repaired. If I am asked, I shall say that I have been to the Smiths' Bridge." ^ — She grasped the door-handle. — *' By the way, I forgot to tell thee : Monsieur Kurnatovsky will, in all probability, propose to me in a few days. • The fashionable shopping thoroughfare in Moscow. — Translatob. 184 ON THE EVE But I shall do . . . this ... to him." — She placed the thumb of her left hand to the tip of her nose, and flourished the rest of her fingers in the air. — " Good-bye. Until we meet again. Now I know the way .... But do not waste time " Elena opened the door a little way, listened, turned toward Insaroff*, nodded her head, and flew out of the room. For a minute, Insaroff stood in front of the closed door, and listened also. The door below, opening on the courtyard, slammed. He went to the divan, sat down, and covered his eyes with his hand. Nothing of the sort had ever happened with him before. — " How have I deserved this love?" — he thought. — "Is it not a dream?" But a faint odour of mignonette which Elena had left behind her in his poor, dark, little room reminded him of her visit. In company with it, there seemed to linger still in the air the accents of a youthful voice, the sound of light young footsteps, and the warmth and freshness of a young, virgin body. 185 XXIV Insaroff decided to wait for more decisive news, and began to make preparations for departure. It was a very difficult matter. So far as he him- self was concerned, no obstacles awaited him: all he had to do was to ask for his passport, — but what was he to do about Elena? It was not pos- sible to obtain a passport for her in a legal man- ner. Marry her in secret, and then present him- self with her before her parents? ..." Then they would let us go," — he thought. " But what if they did not? We shall go, all the same. But if they enter complaint , . . if . . . No, it will be better to obtain a passport, in some way." He made up his mind to take counsel (of course, without mentioning any names) with one of his acquaintances, a retired — or, rather, a dis- charged—procurator, an experienced, clever old fellow in the line of secret affairs. This re- spected man did not live near by: InsarofF jogged along slowly, for a whole hour, in a wretched cab, to him, and did not find him at home, to boot ; and on the way back, he got drenched to the marrow, thanks to a heavy shower which suddenly came up. On the following morning, InsarofF, in spite of a decidedly violent headache, again wended his 186 ON THE EVE way to the retired procurator. The ex-procura- tor listened to him attentively, taking snufF out of a snufF-box adorned with the picture of a full- busted nymph; and casting sidelong glances at his visitor with his cunning little eyes, which also were snufF-coloured, — listened, and demanded " more circumstantiality in the exposition of the facts"; and observing that InsarofF entered un- willingly into details (he had come to him much against his will), he confined himself to the advice to arm himself, first of all, with " cash," and asked him to call again, "when," he added, in- haling snuflF over his open snuff-box, " your con- fidence shall have increased, and your distrust shall have decreased " (he pronounced his o's broadly/ " But a passport," he went on, as though to himself, " is a work of — man's hands; you are travelling, for instance : who knows whe- ther you are Marya Bredikhin, or Karolina Vo- gelmayer? " A feeling of disgust stirred in In- saroff, but he thanked the procurator, and prom- ised to return in a few days. That evening he went to the Stakhoffs. Anna Vasilievna received him caressingly, reproached him for having completely forgotten them, and, thinking him pale, inquired about his health; ^ A peculiarity of the clergy, and of those who have received their education in ecclesiastical seminaries, which are open also to those who do not intend to enter the priesthood, for a general education. The Old Church Slavonic, used in the services of the Church, requires that pronunciation. The o is also pronounced thus in certain dis- tricts. — TSANSLATOB. 187 ON THE EVE Nikolai Artemievitch did not speak a word to him, but merely looked at him with a pensively- careless curiosity ; Shubin treated him coldly, but Elena amazed him. She was expecting him ; she had put on the gown which she had worn on the day of their first meeting in the chapel; but she greeted him with so much composure, she was so amiable and unconcernedly gay, that, to look at her, no one would have thought that the fate of that young girl was already settled, and that the mere secret consciousness of happy love im- parted animation to her features, lightness and charm to all her movements. She poured tea, in company with Zoya, jested, chattered; she knew that Shubin would watch her, that Insaroff would be incapable of donning a mask, would be incapa- ble of feigning indifference, and she had armed herself in advance. She was not mistaken: Shu- bin never took his eyes from her, and InsarofF was extremely taciturn and gloomy throughout the evening. Elena felt so happy, that she took it into her head to tease him. "Well, how goes it?" — she suddenly asked him: — " is your plan progressing? " InsarofF was disconcerted. "What plan? "-he said. " Why, have you forgotten? " — she replied, laughing in his face: he alone could understand the meaning of that happy laugh: — " your selec- tions from Bulgarian authors for Russians? " 188 ON THE EVE " Quelle bourde! " muttered Nikolai Artemie- vitch, through his teeth. Zoya seated herself at the piano. Elena shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly, and indicated the door to InsarofF with her eyes, as though sending him home. Then she touched the table twice with her finger, making a pause be- tween, and looked at him. He understood that she was appointing a meeting two days hence, and she smiled swiftly when she perceived that he understood her. Insaroff rose, and began to take leave : he felt ill. Kurnatovsky made his appear- ance. Nikolai Artemievitch sprang to his feet, raised his right hand above his head, and softly lowered it into the palm of the chief secretary. Insaroff tarried a few moments longer, in order to have a look at his rival. Elena nodded her head stealthily, slyly; the master of the house did not consider it necessary to introduce them to each other; and InsarofF went away, after having ex- changed a final glance with Elena. Shiibin pon- dered and pondered — and argued vehemently with Kurnatovsky over a juridical question which he knew nothing about. Insaroff did not sleep all night, and in the morning felt ill ; but he occupied himself with re- ducing his papers to order, and with writing let- ters, but his head was heavy and confused, some- how. By dinner-time he was in a fever : he could eat nothing. The fever augmented rapidly to- 189 ON THE EVE ward evening; an aching pain made its appear- ance in all his limbs, and he had a torturing head- ache. InsarofF lay down on the same little divan where Elena had so recently sat; he thought, " I am rightly punished. Why did I betake myself to that old scoundrel? " and tried to get to sleep But the malady held him in its grasp. His veins began to throb with fearful violence, his blood blazed with sultry heat, his thoughts circled round and round like birds. He became uncon- scious. Like a man who has been crushed, he lay prone, and, suddenly, it seemed to him that some one was softly laughing and whispering over him. With an effort he opened his eyes ; the light of the candle, which needed snuffling, cut them like a knife .... What was this ? The old procurator was standing before him in a dressing-gown of figured Oriental stuff, with a bandana handker- chief, as he had seen him on the preceding day . . . . " Karolina Vogelmayer," uttered the tooth- less mouth. As InsarofF gazed, the old man broadened out, swelled, grew, and now he was no longer a man but a tree .... InsarofF must climb up its branches. He got caught, fell breast downward on a sharp stone, and Karolina Vogelmayer squatted on her heels, in the shape of a female peddler, and hsped: "Patties, patties, patties,"— and then blood flowed, and swords gleamed intolerably . . . . " Elena! "—and every- thing vanished in a crimson chaos. 190 XXV " Some one has come to you, I don't know what he is, — a locksmith, or something of that sort, seemingly," said his servant to BersenefF, on the following evening: — the man was distinguished for his stern treatment of his master, and for a sceptical turn of mind, — " he wants to see you." " Call him in," — said BersenefF. The " locksmith " entered. BersenefF recog- nised in him the tailor, the landlord of the lodg- ings where InsarofF lived. " What dost thou want? " he asked him. " I have come to your grace," — began the tailor, slowly shifting from foot to foot, and at times flourishing his right hand, with the last three fingers done up in a bandage.—" Our lodger, whoever he is, is very ill." " InsarofF? " " Exactly so, — our lodger. I don't know, but yesterday he was on his feet from early morning ; in the evening, he only asked for a drink, and my housewife carried water to him; but in the night he began to be delirious, we could hear it through the partition ; and this morning he could not speak, and he lies there like a log, and such 191 ON THE EVE a fever as he has! * My God! ' I thought, ' who can tell?— the first thing you know, he will die; and I shall have to give notice at the pohce-sta- tion. For he is alone.' And my housewife she says to me : ' Go,' says she, * to that person, from whom our man hired quarters out of town: per- haps he will tell thee what to do, or will come him- self.' So I 've come to your grace, because we cannot, that is . . . ." BersenefF snatched up his cap, thrust a ruble into the tailor's hand, and immediately drove with him in hot haste to InsarofF's lodgings. He found him lying on the divan unconscious, fully dressed. His face was terribly distorted. Berseneif immediately ordered the landlord and landlady to undress him and carry him to his bed, while he himself flew for a doctor and brought him. The doctor prescribed leeches, Spanish flies, and calomel simultaneously, and ordered him to be bled. " Is he dangerously ill? " asked Berseneff. " Yes, very," — replied the doctor. — " The most violent sort of inflammation of the lungs exists; pneumonia is fully developed, the brain may be implicated also, but the patient is young. His very strength is directed against himself now. I was sent for rather late in the day ; however, we will do everything which science demands. The doctor was still yoimg himself, and be- lieved in science. 192 ON THE EVE BerseneiF remained for the night. The land- lord and landlady turned out to be kindly and even active folk, as soon as a man was found who took it upon him to tell them what ought to be done. A doctor's assistant made his appear- ance, and the medical tortures began. Toward morning, InsarofF recovered con- sciousness for a few minutes, recognised Berse- nefF, inquired, " I am ill, apparently? " gazed about him with the dull eyes and languid surprise of a person who is seriously ill, and relapsed into unconsciousness. BersenefF went home, changed his clothing, gathered up some books, and re- turned to InsarofF's lodgings. He had decided to settle down there, for the present, at least. He fenced ofF the bed with screens, and arranged a little nook for himself near the divan. The day passed neither cheerfully nor quickly. Berseneff absented himself for the purpose of dining. Evening came. He lighted a candle with a shade, and began to read. Everything was quiet round about. In the landlord's quarters, on the other side of the partition, there was audible now a sup- pressed whispering, now a yawn, now a sigh .... One of the family sneezed, and was reproved in a whisper: behind the screens resounded the heavy and uneven breathing, occasionally broken by a brief groan, and an anxious tossing of the head upon the pillow .... Strange thoughts de- scended upon BersenefF. He was in the chamber 193 ON THE EVE of a man whose life hung on a thread, of a man who, as he knew, loved Elena .... He recalled the night when Shiibin had run after him and declared to him that she loved him— BersenefF! And now . . . . " What am I to do now? " he asked himself. " Shall I inform Elena of his illness? Shall I wait? This news is sadder than that which I once imj)arted to her: 't is strange how fate persists in placing me as a third person between them! " He decided that it was better to wait. His glance fell upon the table, covered with heaps of papers .... "Will he carry out his ideas? " thought BersenefF. " Can it be possible that all will vanish? " And he felt sorry for the young life which was being extinguished, and he vowed to himself that he would save it ... . It was a bad night. The sick man raved a great deal. Several times BersenefF rose from his lit- tle couch, approached the bed on tiptoe, and listened sadly to his mutterings. Once only did InsarofF enunciate, with sudden distinctness: " I will not, I will not, thou must not . . ." Berse- nefF started ^ and looked at InsarofF : his face, anguished and ghastly at that moment, was im- movable, and his hands lay helpless . . . . " I will not," he repeated, almost inaudibly. The doctor came early in the morning, shook his head, and prescribed new remedies. — " The 1 In the Russian, it is plain that the " thou " refers to a woman.— Translator. 194 ON THE EVE crisis is still remote," — ^he said, as he put on his hat. " And after the crisis? " — asked Berseneff. " After the crisis ? There are two issues: aut Ccesar, aut nihil" The doctor departed. Berseneff took a few turns in the street: he needed fresh air. He re- turned, and took up a book. He had finished Raumer long ago : he was now studying Grote. All at once, the door opened gently, and the head of the landlady's little daughter, covered, as usual, with a heavy kerchief, was thrust into the room. " Here," — she said in a low voice, " is the young lady who gave me the ten kopeks that time " The head of the landlady's little daughter dis- appeared, and in its place Elena made her ap- pearance. Berseneff sprang to his feet, as though he had been scalded; but Elena did not move, did not cry out. . . , She seemed to have comprehended everything in an instant. A strange pallor over- spread her face, she approached the screens, glanced behind them, clasped her hands, and stood rooted to the spot. Another moment, and she would have flung herself on Insaroff, but Berseneff restrained her: — "What are you doing? "—he said in an agitated whisper.— " You might kill him! " 195 ON THE EVE She reeled. He led her to the little divan, and seated her. She looked into his face, then measured him with a glance, then fixed her eyes on the floor. "Is he dying?" — she asked so coldly and calmly that BersenefF was frightened. " For God's sake, Elena Nikolaevna," — he began, " why do you ask that? He is ill, it is true, — and quite dangerously .... But we will save him; I will answer for that." " He is unconscious? " — she asked, in the same manner as before. " Yes, he is insensible now .... That is al- ways the case at the beginning of these illnesses ; but that signifies nothing, — nothing, I assure you. Drink this water." She raised her eyes to his, and he understood that she had not heard his replies. " If he dies," — she said, still in the same voice, — " I shall die also." At that moment Insaroff moaned faintly; she shuddered, clasped her head, then began to untie her hat-strings. " What are you doing? " Berseneff asked her. She made no reply. " What are you doing? " — ^he repeated. " I shall stay here." "What .... for long?" " I don't know, perhaps all day, all night, for- ever. . . I don't know." 196 ON THE EVE " For God's sake, Elena Nikolaevna, come to your senses. Of course I could not, in the least, expect to see you here; but, nevertheless, ... I assume that you have come hither for a short time. Remember, they may miss you at home " " And wha^t of that? " " They will search for you .... they will find you . . . ." " And what of that? " " Elena Nikolaevna 1 You see . . . he can- not defend you now." She dropped her head, as though meditating, raised her handkerchief to her lips, and convulsive sobs suddenly burst forth from her breast with shattering force. . . . She flung herself face down on the couch and tried to stifle them, but her whole body heaved and throbbed hke a bird which has just been caught. *' Elena Nikolaevna .... for God's sake . . . ." Berseneff* kept repeating over her. "Ah? What is it? "—rang out Insarofl"s voice. Elena straightened up, Berseneif stood stock- still on the spot .... After a pause, he ap- proached the bed, InsaroiF's head was lying, as before, helplessly on the pillow: his eyes were closed. " Is he delirious? " — whispered Elena. "Apparently," replied Berseneff; "but that is nothing; it is always so, especially if . . . ." 197 ON THE EVE " When did he fall ill? "—interrupted Elena. " Day before yesterday ; I have been here since yesterday. Rely upon me, Elena Nikolaevna. I will not leave him ; all means shall be employed. If necessary, we will call a consultation of doc- tors." ■" He will die withoi.1 me," — she exclaimed, wringing her hands. " I give you my word to send you news every day about the progress of his malady; and if actual danger should arise . , . ." " Swear to me that you will send for me in- stantly, whatever may be the time, by day or night ; write a note straight to me .... I care for nothing now. Do you hear? do you promise to do this?" " I promise, in the sight of God." " Swear it." I swear. She suddenly seized his hand, and before he could draw it away she pressed it to her lips. " Elena Nikolaevna . . what are you doing? " he whispered. " No ... no ... it is not necessary . . . ." muttered InsaroiF incoherently, and sighed heavily. Elena approached the screens, clenched her handkerchief in her teeth, and gazed long, long at the sick man. Dumb tears streamed down her cheeks. 198 ON THE EVE " Elena Nikolaevna," — said BersenefF to her, —"he may come to himself and recognise you; God knows whether that will be well. Besides, I am expecting the doctor at any minute . . . ." Elena took her hat from the divan, put it on, and paused. Her eyes roved sadly over the room. She seemed to be recalling .... " I cannot go," — she whispered at last. BersenefF pressed her hand. — " Collect your forces," — he said, — " calm yourself; you are leav- ing him in my care. I will go to see you this very evening." Elena glanced at him and said: — "Oh, my kind friend! " burst out sobbing, and rushed out of the room. Berseneff leaned against the door. A sad and bitter feeling, not devoid of a certain strange pleasure, oppressed his heart. "My kind friend! " he thought, and shrugged his shoulders. " Who is there? " — rang out InsarofF's voice. BersenefF went to him. — " I am here, Dmitry Nikanorovitch. What do you want? How do you feel? " " Only you? " asked the sick man. " Only I." "And she?" "What she?" said BersenefF, almost in af- fright. InsarofF remained silent. — " Mignonette," — he whispered, and his eyes closed again. 199 XXVI For eight whole days Insaroif hung between life and death. The doctor came incessantly, feeling an interest still, as a young man, in a difficult patient. Shiibin heard of InsarofF's dangerous condition, and visited him; his fellow-country- men—the Bulgarians — made their appearance; among them,BersenefF recognised the two strange figures who had aroused his amazement by their visit to the villa; all expressed their sincere sym- pathy, and several offered to take BersenefF's place at the bedside of the sick man ; but he did not consent, remembering the promise he had made to Elena. He saw her every day, and communi- cated to her by stealth — sometimes in words, sometimes in a tiny note— all the details of the malady's course. With what heartfelt appre- hension did she await him! How she listened to him, and questioned him! She herself longed constantly to go to Insaroff ; but BersenefF en- treated her not to do so : Insaroff was rarely alone. On the first day, when she barned of his illness, she nearly fell ill herself ; as soon as she got home she locked herself up in her room, but she was called to dinner, and she presented herself in 200 ON THE EVE the dining-room with such a face that Anna Vasflievna was frightened, and insisted upon putting her to bed. However, Elena suc- ceeded in controlling herself. " If he dies," she kept reiterating, " I shall die also." This thought soothed her, and gave her strength to appear indifferent. Moreover, no one dis- turbed her: Anna Vasflievna busied herself with her influenza; Shiibin worked with exas- peration; Zoya resigned herself to melancholy, and made preparations for perusing " Werther"; Nikolai Artemievitch was greatly displeased by the frequent visits of the " scholar," the more so as his " views " with regard to Kurnatovsky made but slow progress: the practical chief secretary was perplexed and was waiting. Elena did not even thank BersenefF: there are services for which it is painful and mortifying to give thanks. Only once, on her fourth meeting with him ( Insa- roff had passed a very bad night, and the doctor had hinted at a consultation) , — only at that meet- ing did she remind him of his oath. " Well, in that case let us go," he said to her. She rose, and started to dress herself. " No," — he said ; " let us wait until to-morrow." — Toward evening, Insa- rofF was a little easier. Eight days did this trial last. Elena seemed calm, but could eat nothing, did not sleep at night. A dull pain existed in all her limbs ; a sort of dry, burning mist seemed to fill her head. " Our 201 ON THE EVE young lady is melting away like a candle," her maid remarked concerning her. At last, on the ninth day, the crisis came. Elena was sitting in the drawing-room beside Anna Vasilievna, and, without knowing what she was about, was reading to her the Moscow News. BersenefF entered. Elena cast a glance at him (how swift and timid and piercing and startled was the first glance which she cast at him every time!), and immediately divined that he had brought good news. He smiled and gave her a slight nod : she rose to greet him. " He has come to himself, he is saved ; in a week he will be entirely well," — he whispered to her. Elena put out her hand, as though warding off a blow, and said nothing; but her lips quivered and a crimson flush overspread her whole face. Berseneff entered into conversation with Anna Vasilievna, and Elena went away to her own room, fell on her knees, and began to pray, to thank God .... Light, bright tears streamed from her eyes. She suddenly became conscious of an extreme lassitude, laid her head on her pil- low, whispered, "Poor Andrei Petrovitch!" and instantly fell asleep with moist eyelashes and cheeks. It was long since she had slept and had not wept. 202 XXVII Berseneff^s words were realised only in part: the danger was past, but Insaroff' s strength returned slowly, and the doctor talked about a profound and general shock to his whole organ- ism. Nevertheless, the sick man left his bed and began to walk about the room. BersenefF removed to his own lodgings ; but he dropped in every day to see his friend, who was still weak, and every day, as before, he informed Elena as to the con- dition of his health. InsaroiF did not dare to write to her, and alluded to her only indirectly in his conversations with BerseneiF; while Berse- neff, with feigned indifference, told him about his visits to the Staklioffs, endeavouring, however, to give him to understand that Elena had been greatly grieved, and that now she had recovered her composure. Neither did Elena write to Insa- roff ; she had something else in her head. One day, when BersenefF had just informed her, with a joyful countenance, that the doctor had already given InsarofF permission to eat a cutlet, and that now, probably, he would soon be out, she became pensive and dropped her eyes . . . " Guess what I want to say to you,"— she said. BersenefF was disconcerted. He understood her. 203 ON THE EVE " Probably,"— he replied, averting his eyes: — " you want to tell me that you wish to see him." Elena blushed, and in a barely audible tone articulated: " Yes." "Well, what then? I think you will find it very easy."— (" Fie! " he thought,— " what a hateful feeling is in my heart! ") " You mean to say that I have done it al- ready . . . . " said Elena. — " But I am afraid now, you say, he is rarely alone." " That is not a difficult matter to remedy," — returned BersenefF, still without looking at her. — " Of course I cannot forewarn him; but give me a note. Who can prevent your writing to him ... to so good a friend, in whom you take an interest? There is nothing reprehensible in that. . . . Appoint . . . that is to say, write to him when you will come." " I am ashamed," — whispered Elena. " Give me the note, I will carry it." " That is not necessary; but I wanted to ask you .... do not be angry with me, Andrei Pe- trovitch .... not to go to him to-morrow ! " Berseneff bit his lip. "Ah! Yes, I understand; very good, very good." — And adding two or three words more, he hastily departed. " So much the better, so much the better," — he thought, as he hurried homeward. " I have not learned anything new, but so much the better. 204 ON THE EVE What 's the use of clinging to the rim of another person's nest? I repent of nothing, I have done what my conscience bade me, but now it is enough. Let them go their way! Not without cause was my father wont to say to me: 'You and I, my dear fellow, are not sybarites, we are not aristocrats, we are not the spoiled darlings of fate and of nature, we are not even martyrs, — we are toil- ers, toilers, and again toilers. Don thy leathern apron, toiler, and take thyself to thy work-bench, in thy dark workshop! But let the sun shine on others ! Our dull life has a pride and a happiness of its own also! ' " On the following morning, Insaroif received by the city post a brief note : " Expect me," wrote Elena, and he gave orders that all callers should be refused. 205 XXVIII As soon as InsarofF read Elena's note, he imme- diately began to put his room to rights, asked his landlady to carry away the phials of medicine, took off his dressing-gown, and put on his coat. His head reeled with weakness and joy, and his heart beat violently. His legs gave way beneath him: he dropped on the divan, and began to look at his watch. " It is now a quarter to twelve," — he said to himself: — "she cannot possibly get here before twelve ; I will think of something else for a quarter of an hour, or I cannot bear it. She cannot possibly come before twelve " The door opened, and with the light rustle of a silken gown, all pale and fresh, young and happy, Elena entered, and fell upon his breast with a faint cry of joy. " Thou art alive, thou art mine," — she kept repeating, as she embraced and caressed his head. He was on the point of swooning ; he panted with this proximity, these touches, this happiness. She sat down beside him, nestled up to him, and began to look at him with that laughing, caressing, and tender glance which beams only in the loving eyes of women. Her face suddenly became overcast. 206 ON THE EVE " How thin thou hast grown, my poor Dmi- try," — she said, passing her hand over his neck, — " what a beard thou hast! " " And thou, too, hast grown thin, my poor Elena," — ^he repHed, catching her fingers with his Hps. She shook back her curls merrily. " That is nothing. Thou shalt see how we will recover ! The storm has passed over, as on the day when we met in the chapel ; it has rushed up and passed away." He replied to her only by a smile. " Akh, what days, Dmitry, what cruel days ! How can people survive those they love ! I knew beforehand, every time, what Andrei Petrovitch was going to tell me, I really did: my life sank and rose together with thine. Good morning, my Dmitry!" He did not know what to say to her. He wanted to throw himself at her feet. " I have also observed,"— she went on, tossing back his hair—" I have been making a great many observations during this time, in my leisure — when a person is very, very unhappy, with what stupid attention he watches everything which goes on around him! Reallv, I sometimes stared at a fly, and all the while, what cold and terror there was in my own soul! But all that is over, it is over, is it not? Everything is bright in future, is it not? 207 ON THE EVE a Thou art the future for me," — replied Insa- roff, — " it is bright for me." " And for me too! But dost thou remember, when I was with thee then, the last time . . . . no, not the last time,"— she repeated, with an in- voluntary shudder, — " but when we talked to- gether, I alluded to death, I know not why; I did not then suspect that it was standing guard over us. But thou art well now, art thou not?" " I am much better, I am almost well." " Thou art well, thou didst not die. Oh, how happy I am ! " A brief silence ensued. " Elena? " — InsarofF said interrogatively. " What, my dear one? " " Tell me, has it not occurred to you that this illness was sent to us as a chastisement? " Elena looked seriously at him. " That thought has occurred to me, Dmitry. But I thought: Why should I be chastised? What duty have I violated, against what have I sinned ? Perhaps my conscience is not like that of others, but it was silent; or, perhaps, I am to blame to- ward thee? — I hinder thee, I hold thee back . . . ." " Thou art not holding me back, Elena; we will go together." " Yes, Dmitry, we will go together, I will fol- low thee .... That is my duty. I love thee .... I know no other dutJ^" 208 ON THE EVE " Oh, Elena! " — said Insaroff : — " what invin- cible chains does thy word lay upon me! " "Why talk about chains?" — she interposed. — " We are free people. Yes," — she went on, gazing thoughtfully at the floor, while with one hand she continued to stroke his hair as before, — " I have gone through a great deal of late, of which I had never the least conception! If any one had predicted to me that I, a well-born, well- bred young lady, would leave the house alone, under divers fictitious pretexts, and go whither be- sides, — to a young man's lodgings! — how en- raged I should have been ! And all that has come to pass, and I do not feel the slightest indignation. God is my witness that I do not ! " she added, and turned toward Insaroif . He gazed at her with such an expression of adoration, that she gently lowered her hand from his hair to his eyes. " Dmitry! "—she began again,— " of course thou dost not know, but I saw thee yonder, on that dreadful bed,— I saw thee in the claws of death, unconscious . . . ." " Thou sawest me? " " Yes." He remained silent. — " And was Berseneff here?" She nodded her head. Insaroff bent toward her.—" Oh, Elena!" he whispered: — " I dare not look at thee." 209 ON THE EVE (( Why? Andrei Petrovitch is so kind ! I was not ashamed before him. And what have I to be ashamed of? I am ready to tell all the world that I am thine And I trust Andrei Petro- vitch like a brother." " He saved me! "—cried Insaroff.— *' He is the noblest, the best of men! " " Yes And knowest thou, that I am indebted to him for everything? Knowest thou, that he was the first to tell me that thou lovedst me? And if I could reveal all Yes, he is a most noble man." InsarofF looked intently at Elena. — " He is in love with thee, is he not? " Elena dropped her eyes.—" He did love me," she said, in a low voice. Insaroff clasped her hand closely. — " Oh, you Russians," — he said, — " you have hearts of gold! And he— he nursed me, he did not sleep at night .... And thou — thou, my angel .... No re- proach, no wavering .... and all this for me, for me !...." " Yes, yes, all for thee, because thou art be- loved. Akh, Dmitry ! How strange it is ! I think I have already spoken to thee about it, — but never mind, it is pleasant to me to repeat it, and it will be pleasant for thee to hear it,— when I beheld thee for the first time . . . ." " Why are there tears in thine eyes? " — Insa- roff interrupted her. 210 ON THE EVE " Tears? In my eyes? " — She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. — "Oh, the stupid! He does not yet know that people weep for happiness. As I was going to say: When I beheld thee for the first time, I perceived nothing particular in thee, truly. I remember, at first I liked Shiibin much better, although I never loved him; and as for Andrei Petrovitch,— oh! there was a moment when I thought : Can he be the man? But thou — I felt nothing ; on the other hand . . . afterward .... afterward .... thou didst fairly seize my heart with both hands ! " " Spare me ! "—said Insaroff . He tried to rise, but immediately sank back on the divan. " What ails thee? " asked Elena anxiously. " Nothing. ... I am still a little weak .... This happiness is beyond my strength." " Then sit quietly. Do not dare to stir, do not get excited,"— she added, shaking her finger at him.—" And why have you taken off your dress- ing-gown? It is too early for you to put on foppish airs! Sit still, and I will tell you stories. Listen, and be silent. After your illness, it is in- jurious for you to talk much." She began to tell him about Shiibin, about Kur- natovsky, about what she had been doing for the last fortnight, — that, according to the news- papers, war was inevitable, and consequently, as soon as he should be entirely well, he must find means for departure without wasting a moment's 211 ON THE EVE time. . . . She said all this, as she sat by his side, leaning against his shoulder. . . . He listened to her,— listened, now paling, now flushing .... Several times he attempted to stop her, and then he suddenly drew him- self up. " Elena," — he said to her, with a strange, harsh sort of voice, — " leave me, go away." " What,"— she said, with surprise. — *' Dost thou feel ill? "—she added quickly. " No ... I am all right .... but, leave me, please." " I do not understand thee. Thou art driving me away? . . . What is it thou art doing? " — she said suddenly: he had bent down from the divan almost to the floor, and was pressing his lips to her feet.—" Don't do that, Dmitry .... Dmitry . . . ." He raised himself up, part way. " Then leave me ! Seest thou, Elena, when I fell ill I did not at once lose consciousness, I knew I was on the verge of destruction; even in my fever, even in my delirium, I was dimly con- scious that death was advancing toward me, that I had bidden farewell to life, to thee, to every- thing, I was parting with hope .... and all at once, that revival, that light in the darkness, thou thou wert by my side, in my room, .... thy head, thy breath This is beyond my strength! I feel that I love thee passionately, I 212 ON THE EVE hear thee caUing thyself mine, I can answer for nothing. . . . Go away!" " Dmitry . . . . " whispered Elena, and hid her head on his shoulder. Only now did she un- derstand him. " Elena," — he went on, — " I love thee, thou knowest it; I am ready to give my life for thee . . . but why hast thou come to me now, when I am weak, when I am not in control of my- self, when all my blood is aflame? . . . Thou art mine, thou say est .... thou lovest me . . . . " "Dmitry," — she repeated, all flushed, and pressing herself still more closely to him. " Elena, have pity on me— go away! I feel I may die — I cannot endure these attacks .... my whole soul longs for thee . . . reflect, death has almost parted us . . . and now thou art here, in my arms .... Elena . . . . " She trembled all over. . . " Then take me," she whispered, almost inaudibly. 213 XXIX •Nikolai Artemievitch was striding to and fro in his study, with frowning brows. Shiibin was sitting by the window, and, with one leg thrown over the other, was cahnly smoking a cigar. " Please stop pacing from corner to corner," he said, knocking the ashes from his cigar. " I am still waiting to hear what you have to say, I am watching you— and my neck is tired. Moreover, there is something forced, melodra- matic, about your stride." " You want to do nothing but jest,"— replied Nikolai Artemievitch. " You will not enter into my position, you will not understand that I have become accustomed to that woman, that I am attached to her— in short, that her absence must torture me. Here it is almost December, winter is at the end of our noses. . . . What can she be doing in Revel? " " She must be knitting stockings . . . for herself; for herself— not for you." " Laugh away, laugh away; but let me tell you, that I do not know such another woman. Such honesty, such disinterestedness . . . ." " Has she put in that note for collection? " in- quired Shiibin. 214 ON THE EVE " Such disinterestedness,"— repeated Nikolai Artemievitch, raising his voice, — " is wonderful. They tell me that there are a million other women in the world; but I say: Show me that million ; show me that million, I say : ces femmes, quon me les montre! And she does not write, —that is what is deadly! " " You are as eloquent as Insaroff," — re- marked Shiibin:— "but do you know what I would advise you to do? " "When?" " When Augustina Christianovna returns . . . you understand me?" "Well, yes; what then?" " When you see her .... Do you follow the development of my idea?" " Well, yes, yes." " Try to beat her: what will be the result? " Nikolai Artemievitch turned away in wrath. " I thought he really would give me some practical advice. But what can one expect from him! An artist, a man devoid of prin- ciples . . . ." "Devoid of principles! Why, they say that your favourite, Mr. Kurnatovsky, a man with principles, cleaned a hundred rubles out of you yesterday. That is not delicate, you must ad- mit." " What of it? We were playing a commer- cial game. Of course, I might have expected 215 ON THE EVE . . . But people are so incapable of appreciating liim in this house . . . ." " That he thought: ' Here goes! ' " put in Shu- bin:— "' Whether he is to be my father-in-law or not, is a matter which is still hidden in the urn of fate, but a hundred rubles are good for a man who does not take bribes.' " " Father-in-law! What the devil do you mean by being a father-in-law? — Vous revez, mon cher. Of course, any other girl would have been delighted with such a suitor. Judge for yourself: he 's a dashing, clever man, he has made his own way in the world, he has toiled hard for a livelihood in two governments . . . ." " In the Government of * * * *, he led the Governor by the nose,"— remarked Shubin. " Very likely. Evidently, that was as it should be. He 's practical, energetic . . . ." " And plays cards well,"— remarked Shubin again. " Well, yes, he does play cards well. But Elena Nikolaevna .... Can she understand? I want to know where is the man who will un- dertake to understand what she wants? Some- times she is merry, again she is bored; suddenly, she grows so thin that one does not wish to look at her, and then, all of a sudden, she recovers, and all this without any visible cause " A homely footman entered with a cup of cof- fee, a cream- jug, and rusks on a tray. " The father is pleased with the suitor,"— went 216 ON THE EVE on Nikolai Artemievitch, waving a rusk, — " but what does the daughter care about that? That was all right in former, patriarchal times, but now we have changed all that. Nous avons change tout pa. Now a young lady talks with whomsoever she pleases; she goes about Moscow without a lackey, without a maid, as in Paris; and all that is accepted. The other day I asked : ' Where is Elena Nikolaevna? ' I am told, ' She has been pleased to go out.' Whither? No one knows. Is that— proper? " " Do take your cup, and dismiss the man," — said Shubin. — " You yourself say that one should not talk devant les domestiques" — he added in an undertone. The footman cast a sidelong glance at Shu- bin, but Nikolai Artemievitch took his cup, poured himself some cream, and clutched up half a score of rusks. " What I meant to say," he began, as soon as the servant had left the room, — " is that I am of no account in this house. That 's all. Be- cause, in our day, every one judges by the ex- terior: one man is empty and stupid, but has a pompous mien, — and he is respected; while another, perhaps, is possessed of talents which might .... might be of great service, but ow- ing to his modesty " "Are you a statesman, Nikolinka?" inquired Shubin, in a very subtle voice. " Have done with your clownish pranks I " ex- 217 ON THE EVE claimed Nikolai Artemievitch angrily. You forget yourself! Here's a fresh proof for you that I count for nothing in this house, nothing! " " Anna Vasilievna persecutes you, poor fel- low!" said Shiibin, stretching himself. " Ekh, Nikolai Artemievitch, you and I ought to be ashamed of ourselves! You had better prepare some little gift for Anna Vasilievna. Her birth- day comes shortly, and you know how she prizes the smallest token of attention on your part." " Yes, yes," replied Nikolai Artemievitch hastily: — " I am very much obliged to you for reminding me of it. Of course, of course ; with- out fail. And here, I have a trifle ; a little clasp, which I purchased a few days ago at Rosen- strauch's; only, I don't know whether it is suit- able?" " I suppose you bought it for the other one, the resident of Revel? " " That is . . . I . . . yes ... I thought . . . ." " Well, in that case, it certainly is suitable." Shubin rose from his chair. " Where shall we spend the evening, Pa- vel Yakovlevitch, hey? " Nikolai Artemievitch asked him, looking him amiably in the eye. " Why, I suppose you are going to the club.'* " After the club .... after the club." Again Shubin stretched himself. " No, Nikolai Artemievitch, I must work to- 218 ON THE EVE morrow. Some other time."— And he left the room. Nikolai Artemievitch frowned, paced up and down the room a couple of times, took from a bureau a small velvet case with the " little clasp," and for a long time gazed at it and rubbed it up with his silk handkerchief. Then he sat down in front of the mirror, and began carefully to brush his thick black hair, pompously in- clining his head now to the right, now to the left, thrusting his tongue into his cheek, and never taking his eyes from his parting. Some one coughed behind him: he glanced round, and beheld the footman who had brought the coffee. " Why hast thou come? " he asked him. " Nikolai Artemievitch ! " said the lackey, not without considerable solemnity — " you are our master! " *' I know it: what next? " " Nikolai Artemievitch, please do not be angry with me; only, as I have been in your grace's service since my youth, it is my duty, out of slavish zeal, to inform you " "Well, what is it?" The lackey shifted from foot to foot. " You were pleased to say just now," — he began, — " that you did not know where Elena Nikolaevna is pleased to go. I have become acquainted with it." " What lies art thou telling, fool? " 219 ON THE EVE " I can't help it : only three days ago I saw her entering a certain house." " Where? what? what house? " " In the * * * alley, near Povarskaya Street. Not far from here. And I asked the yard- porter. ' What lodgers have you? ' says I." Nikolai Artemievitch began to stamp his feet. " Hold thy tongue, rascal! How darest thou? . . . Elena Nikolaevna, in her kindness of heart, is visiting the poor, and thou .... Begone, fool!" The frightened lackey started for the door with a rush. "Stop!" shouted Nikolai Artemievitch. " What did the yard-porter say? " " Why, no ... . thing, — he said nothing. ' A stu . . . student,' says he." " Hold thy tongue, rascal! Listen, scoundrel: if thou darest to speak of this to any one, even in thy sleep . . . ." "Have mercy, sir! . . . ." " Silence! if thou so much as utter est a sound .... if any one .... if I hear .... thou shalt not find refuge from me even under the earth! Dost hear? Take thyself off! " The lackey vanished. "O Lord my God! What is the meaning of this?" thought Nikolai Artemievitch, when he found himself alone:— "what was it that lii'^okhead told me? Hey? But I must find out 220 ON THE EVE what house it is, and who lives there. I must go myself. A pretty pass things have come to, upon my word! .... JJn laquais! .Quelle humilia- tion! " And repeating aloud, '' JJn laquais! " Nikolai Artemievitch locked up the clasp in his bureau, and betook himself to Anna Vasilievna. He found her in bed, with her cheek in a bandage. But the sight of her sufferings merely irritated him, and he speedily reduced her to tears. 221 XXX In the meantime, the storm which had been brewing in the East broke. Turkey declared war on Russia; the date set for the evacuation of the principaUties had already passed; the day of the uprising of Sinope was not far dis- tant. The last letters received by Insaroff sum- moned him importunately to his native land. His health was not yet restored : he coughed, felt weak, and had light attacks of fever, but he hardly remained in the house at all. His soul was on fire; he no longer thought of his illness. He was incessantly going about Moscow ; he met various persons by stealth; many a time he wrote all night long ; he disappeared for days together ; he announced to his landlord that he was going away soon, and presented him, in advance, with his simple furniture. Elena, on her side, was also making preparations to depart. One stormy evening, she was sitting in her own chamber, and as she hemmed a handkerchief she involuntarily listened with sadness to the howling of the wind. Her maid entered, and told her that her papa was in her mamma's bedroom, and requested her to go thither . . . . " Your mamma is crying," 222 ON THE EVE — she whispered after the departing Elena, — " and your papa is in a rage . . . ." Elena shrugged her shoulders slightly, and entered Anna Vasilievna's bedroom. Nikolai Artemievitch's good-natured wife was half -re- clining in a lounging-chair and sniffing at a handkerchief scented with eau de Cologne; he himself was standing by the fireplace, with his coat buttoned up to the throat, in a tall, stiff neckcloth, and with stiffly-starched cuffs, and dimly suggested by his carriage some parlia- mentary orator. With an oratorical wave of his hand, he motioned his daughter to a chair, and when she, not understanding his gesture, looked inquiringly at him, he said with dignity, but without turning his head: " I beg that you will be seated." (Nikolai Artemievitch addressed his wife as you always and his daughter on extraor- dinary occasions.) Elena sat down. Anna Vasilievna blew her nose tearfully. Nikolai Artemievitch thrust his right hand into the breast of his coat. " I have summoned you, Elena Nikolaevna," — he began, after a prolonged silence, " for the purpose of having an explanation with you— or, I had better say, for the purpose of demanding an explanation from you. I am displeased with you,— or, no: that is putting it too mildly; your conduct afflicts, shocks me- me and your mother 223 ON THE EVE .... your mother, whom you see here before you." Nikolai Artemievitch set in action only the bass notes of his voice. Elena gazed at him in silence, then at Anna Vasilievna, and turned pale. " There was a time,"— began Nikolai Ar- temievitch again,— "when daughters did not permit themselves to look down upon their par- ents,— when the parental authority made the dis- obedient tremble. That time is past, unfortu- nately,— so, at least, many persons think: but, be- lieve me, there still exist laws which do not permit .... do not permit .... in short, laws still exist. I beg that you will direct your atten- tion to this point: laws exist." " But, papa,"— Elena was beginning. " I request that you will not interrupt me. Let us return, in thought, to the past. Anna Vasilievna and I have performed our duty. Anna Vasilievna and I have spared nothing on your education: neither expense nor solicitude. What profit you have drawn from all this solici- tude, from all this expenditure— is another question; but I had a right to think . . . Anna Vasilievna and I had a right to think that you would, at least, sacredly preserve those princi- ples of morahty which .... which we have .... which, as our only daughter .... que nous vous avons inculques — which we have incul- 224 ON THE EVE cated in you. We had the right to think that no new ' ideas ' would touch that, so to speak, stipulated inviolability. And what is the result? I am not now referring to the frivolity inherent in your sex, in your age .... but who could have expected that you would so far forget yourself " " Papa," — said Elena, — " I know what you want to say " " No, thou dost not know what I want to say!" — shouted Nikolai Artemievitch in a fal- setto voice, suddenly abandoning the majesty of his parliamentary demeanour, and his suave dig- nity of speech, and his bass tones:—" Thou dost not know, audacious chit ! . . . ." " For God's sake, Nicolas'' hsped Anna Vasilievna, — ''^ vous me faites mourir." " Don't tell me thaX—que je vous fais mourir, Anna Vasilievna! you have not the slightest idea what you are about to hear ! Prepare your- self for the worst, I warn you! " Anna Vasilievna was fairly dumfounded. " No," — went on Nikolai Artemievitch, turn- ing to Elena: — "thou dost not know what I want to say to thee ! " " I am to blame before you ..." she began. "Hey, at last, then?" " I am to blame before you," — went on Elena, — " in that I did not, long ago confess " " But dost thou know," Nikolai Artemievitch 225 ON THE EVE interrupted her, — " that I can annihilate thee with a single word? " Elena raised her eyes to his. "Yes, madam, with a single word! You need n't look like that! " (He folded his arms on his chest.) " Permit me to ask you, Are you ac- quainted with a certain house in * * * alley, near Povarskaya Street? Have you visited that house? " (He stamped his foot.) " Answer me, wretched girl, and do not try to deceive me! People, people, lackeys, madam, de vils laquais, have seen you going in there to your " Elena flushed all over, and her eyes began to sparkle. " I have no occasion to deceive you," she said; " yes, I have visited that house." " Very fine ! you hear, you hear, Anna Vasi- lievna. And, probably, you know who lives there?" " Yes, I know: my husband." Nikolai Artemievitch stared. " Thy " " My husband,"— repeated Elena.—" I am married to Dmitry Nikanorovitch Insaroff." "Thou? . . . Married! ..." Anna Vasi- lievna articulated with difficulty. " Yes, mamma. . . . Forgive me I We were married secretly, a fortnight ago." Anna Vasilievna fell back in her chair; Niko- lai Artemievitch retreated a couple of paces. 226 ON THE EVE "Married! To that tiiimpery fellow, that Montenegrin! The daughter of Nikolai Stak- hoiF, a member of the ancient hereditary nobility, married to a tramp, to a man of no caste ! With- out the parental blessing! And dost thou think that I will leave matters thus? that I shall not make complaint? that I shall permit thee . . . that thou .... that .... I '11 send thee to a convent, and him to the galleys, to the peniten- tiary battalion! Anna Vasilievna, be so good as to tell her at once that you will deprive her of her inheritance! " "Nikolai Artemievitch, for God's sake!" moaned Anna Vasilievna. " And when, in what way, did this take place? Who performed the marriage ceremony for you? Where? My God! What will all our ac- quaintances, what will everybody say now ! And thou, shameless hypocrite, couldst dwell under the parental roof -tree after such a deed! Hast thou not feared a thunderbolt from heaven? " "Papa," — said Elena (she was trembling all over, from head to foot, but her voice was firm), — " you are at liberty to do what you like with me, but you accuse me without cause of shame- lessness and hypocrisy. I did not wish .... to grieve you any sooner than was necessary ; but I would have told you everything, myself, per- force, in a few days, because my husband and I are going away from here next week." 227 ON THE EVE " Going away? Whither? " " To his native land,— to Bulgaria." " To the Turks! " cried Anna Vasilievna, and fell in a swoon. Elena darted to her mother. "Away!" roared Nikolai Artemievitch, and seized his daughter by the arm:—" Begone, uii' worthy one! " But, at that moment, the bedroom door opened, and a pale head, with glittering eyes, made its appearance; it was the head of Shubin. "Nikolai Artemievitch!" he shouted at the top of his voice:— " Augustina Christianovna has arrived, and summons you to her!" Nikolai Artemievitch wheeled round in a tow- ering rage, shook his fist at Shubin, stood still for a moment, then swiftly left the room. Elena fell at her mother's feet, and embraced her knees. UvAR IvANOviTCH was lying on his bed. A shirt devoid of collar, with a big stud, encircled his fat neck, and fell in broad, loose folds on his almost feminine breast, leaving a large cypress- wood cross and an amulet disclosed to view. A light quilt covered his vast limbs. A candle burned dimly on the night-stand, beside a jug of home-brewed beer, and at Uvar Ivanovitch's feet, on the bed, sat the dejected Shubin. "Yes,"— he was saying thoughtfully,— " she 228 ON THE EVE is married, and preparing to depart. Your nice little nephew kicked up a row, and roared so that everybody in the house could hear him ; he locked himself into the bedroom, for the sake of privacy, but not only the lackeys and the maids,— the very coachmen could hear him! Now he is tear- ing and flinging about, he almost came to blows with me, and he is rushing around nursing his parental malediction, like a bear his sore head; but there 's no force in him. Anna Vasihevna is overwhelmed, but she is far more grieved over her daughter's departure than over her marriage." Uvar Ivanovitch wiggled his fingers. "A mother," — said he: — "well . . . you know . . . ." " Your nice little nephew," — pursued Shiibin, " threatens to complain to the Metropolitan, to the Governor-General, to the Minister, but it will end in her departure. Who finds it a cheerful matter to ruin his only daughter! He '11 crow for a while, and then lower his tail." " They have ... no right," remarked Uvar Ivanovitch, and took a drink from the jug. " Exactly, exactly. And what a thunder- cloud of condemnation, of rumors, of gossip, will arise in Moscow! She was not afraid of them .... However, she is above them. She is going away — and whither! it is terrible even to think of it! To what a distance, to what a God-forsaken place! What awaits her there? 229 ON THE EVE I behold her, as it were, leaving a posting-station by night, in a snow-storm, with the temperature thirty degrees below zero. She is parting with her native land, with her family; but I under- stand her. Whom is she leaving behind her here? Whom has she seen? Kurnatovskys, and BersenefFs, and the like of us; and they are the best of the lot. Why regret it? One thing is bad; they say that her husband— the devil knows, my tongue can hardly get around that word— they say that Insaroff spits blood; that is bad. I saw him the other day; his face was such that one might model Brutus straight from it Do you know who Brutus was, Uvar Ivanovitch? " "Why shouldn't I know? A man." " Precisely: ' he was a man.' Yes, a magnifi- cent face, but unhealthy, very unhealthy." " For fighting ... it makes no difference," said Uvar Ivanovitch. " For fighting, it makes no difference, ex- actly so; you are pleased to express yourself with perfect justice to-day; but for living, it does make a difference. And I suppose he and she wish to live together." " It 's the way of young people," replied Uvar Ivanovitch. " Yes, it 's a young, splendid, fearless way. Death, life, struggle, fall, triumph, love, free- dom, fatherland .... Good, good. God grant 230 ON THE EVE it to every one ! That 's quite another thing from sitting in a marsh up to your neck, and trying to assume an air of not caring, when, as a mat- ter of fact, in reahty you do care. But there — the strings are stretched taut; ring out, so that all the world may hear, or break! " Shiibin dropped his head on his breast. " Yes," he went on after a long silence, — " In- sarofF is worthy of her. But what nonsense! No one is worthy of her. InsarofF .... In- saroiF .... Why this false submission? Well, let us admit that he is young, he will stand up for himself, although, so far, he has done just the same as the rest of us sinners, and it can't be possible, can it, that we are such complete trash? Come now, take me, for instance, — am I trash, Uvar Ivanovitch? Has God denied me every good quality? Has He bestowed on me no abiU- ties, no talents whatever? Who knows, per- haps the name of Pavel Shubin will become a glorious name in the course of time? Here, a copper coin is lying on your table. Who knows, perhaps, some time or other, a century hence, that coin may become part of a statue of Pavel Shii- bin, erected in his honour by a grateful poster- ity? " Uvar Ivanovitch propped himself on his el- bow, and riveted his eyes on the artist, who had talked himself into a fever-heat. " 'T is a long cry,"— he said, at last, twiddling 231 ON THE EVE his fingers, as usual: "it is a question of other people; but thou . . . seest thou? . . . talkest about thyself." "O great philosopher of the Russian land!" exclaimed Shubin.— " Every word of yours is pure gold, and not to me, but to you, should the statue be erected, and I shall set about it myself. Here now, just as you are lying at the present moment, in this pose, — as to which one cannot say whether it contains most of laziness or of strength — just so will I cast you. You have staggered me with your just reproof for my egotism and my self-conceit I Yes! yes! there 's no use in talking about one's self ; there 's no use in bragging. There is no one, as yet, among us; there are no men, look where you will. All are either small fry, or squabblers, petty Ham- lets, cannibals, either underground gloom and thicket, or bullies, empty triflers, and drum- sticks! And there 's still another sort of men for you: they have studied themselves with dis- graceful minuteness; they are incessantly feel- ing the pulse of their every sensation, and re- porting to themselves. ' Here,' say they, ' is what I feel ; this is what I think.' A useful, practical occupation! No, if we had any able men, that young girl, that sensitive soul, would not be leaving us, would not have slipped from us, like a fish into the water! What does it mean, Uvar 232 ON THE EVE Ivanovitch? When is our time coming? When shall we bring forth men in our land? " " Give us time,"— replied Uvar Ivanovitch,— " they will come." "They will come? O thou soil! thou black- earth force! thou hast said: ' They will come? ' Behold, I shall put thy words on record. But why do you extinguish your candle? " " I 'm sleepy,— good-bye." 233 XXXI Shubin spoke the truth. The unexpected news of Elena's marriage had almost killed Anna Vasilievna. She took to her bed. Nikolai Arte- mievitch required of her, that she should not admit her daughter within her sight; he seemed to rejoice at the opportunity to display himself in his complete importance as master of the house, in all the powers of the head of the fam- ily: he blustered and thundered uninterruptedly at the servants, constantly adding: "I '11 show you who I am, I '11 let you know — just wait!" As long as he remained in the house, Anna Vasi- lievna did not see Edena, and contented herself with the presence of Zoya, who waited upon her with great assiduity, and meanwhile thought to herself: " Diesen Insdroff vorziehen—und mem? " But no sooner did Nikolai Artemie- vitch absent himself (and this happened with tolerable frequency: Augustma Christianovna really had returned ) , than Elena presented her- self before her mother,— and the latter gazed at her long, silently, with tears in her eyes. This mute reproach pierced Elena's heart more deeply than any other; she did not feel repen- 234 ON THE EVE tance then, but profound, infinite compunction, akin to repentance. "Mamma, dear mamma!" — she kept repeat- ing, as she kissed her hands: "what could I do? I am not to blame, I fell in love with him, I could not act otherwise. Blame fate: it brought me into connection with a man whom papa does not like, who will take me away from you." " Okli ! " Anna Vasilievna interrupted her : — " do not remind me of that. When I remem- ber where it is that thou wishest to go, my heart fairly sinks in my breast! " " Dear mamma," replied Elena,—" console thyself at least with this, that things might be still worse: I might have died." " But, as it is, I have no hope of ever seeing thee again. Either thou wilt end thy life yon- der, somewhere, in a wigwam " (Anna Vasi- lievna pictured Bulgaria to herself as something in the natui'e of the Siberian marshy fens), " or I shall not survive the separation " " Do not say that, my kind mamma; we shall see each other again, God willing. But there are towns in Bulgaria, just like those here." "Towns, indeed! War is in progress there now; now, I think, wherever one may go, they are firing cannon .... Art thou preparing to start soon? " " Yes ... if only papa .... He means 235 ON THE EVE to lodge a complaint, he threatens to separate us." Anna Vasilievna raised her eyes to heaven. " No, Lenotchka, he will not lodge a com- plaint. I myself would not have consented, on any terms whatsoever, to this marriage, I would sooner have died; but what is done cannot be undone, and I will not allow my daughter to be disgraced." Several days passed thus. At last Anna Vasi- lievna plucked up her courage, and one evening she shut herself up alone with her husband in her bedroom. Everybody in the house became si- lent, and lent an ear. At first, nothing was au- dible; then Nikolai Artemievitch's voice began to boom out, then a wrangle ensued, shouts arose, the listeners even thought that they heard groans Shiibin, in company with Zoya and the maids, was already on the point of going to the rescue, but the uproar in the bedroom began gradually to diminish, lapsed into conver- sation, and ceased. Only from time to time did faint sobs resound— then these came to an end. The key rattled, the squeak of a bureau being opened resounded. . . . The door opened, and Nikolai Artemievitch made his appearance. He stared morosely at all whom he encountered, and betook himself to his club; but Anna Vasilievna summoned Elena to her, embraced her warmly, and, shedding bitter tears, said : 236 ON THE EVE " Everything is settled, he will not make a scandal, and nothing now hinders thee from going away .... from abandoning us." " Will you permit Dmitry to come and thank you,"— Elena asked her mother, as soon as the latter had regained a little composure. "Wait, my darling; I cannot see the man who is separating us yet. There is plenty of time before your departure." " Before our departure," repeated Elena sadly. Nikolai Artemievitch had consented " not to make a scandal " ; but Anna Vasilievna did not tell her daughter what a price he had set upon his consent. She did not tell her that she had prom- ised to pay all his debts, and had given him in hand one thousand rubles. Over and above this, he had informed Anna Vasilievna, with decision, that he did not wish to meet InsarofF, whom he continued to call a Montenegrin; and when he arrived at his club, he began, without the slight- est necessity for it, to talk with his partner, a retired general, about Elena's marriage. " Have you heard," said he, with feigned care- lessness,—" that my daughter, owing to her great erudition, has married some sort of stu- dent? " The general looked at him through his spectacles, muttered, "H'ml" and asked him what was his play. 237 XXXII But the day of departure was drawing near. November was already past; the last days of grace had expired. InsarofF had long ago com- pleted all his preparations, and was burning with the desire to tear himself away from Moscow as speedily as possible. And the doctor urged him to haste. *' You require a warm climate," he said to him; " you will not recover your health here." Elena was overcome with impatience also; Insa- roff's pallor, his thinness, troubled her. She often gazed with involuntary alarm at his al- tered features. Her position in her father's house had become intolerable. Her mother wailed over her, as over a corpse, while her fa- ther treated her with scornful coldness: the ap- proaching parting secretly tortured him also, but he regarded it as his duty, the duty of an in- jured father, to conceal his feelings, his weak- ness. At last, Anna Vasilievna expressed a wish to see Insaroff . He was brought to her quietly, by the back door. When he entered her room, she was unable, for a long time, to speak to him, she could not even bring herself to look at him; 238 ON THE EVE he sat down beside her arm-chair, and with calm respect awaited her first word. Elena sat there also, holding her mother's hand in hers. At last, Anna Vasilievna raised her eyes, said, " God is your judge, Dmitry Nikanorovitch ..." and stopped short : the reproaches died on her lips. "Why, you are ill," — she cried: — "Elena, he is ill!" " I have been ill, Anna Vasilievna," replied InsarofF, — "and I have not quite recovered my health yet ; but I hope that my native air will set me eventually on my feet." " Yes . . . Bulgaria," stammered Anna Va- silievna, and thought: "My God, a Bulgarian, a dying man, a voice as hollow as though it came from a cask, eyes sunk in his head; a regular skeleton, his coat hangs on him as though it were made for some one else ; yellow as camomile — and she is his wife, she loves him . . . . why, this is a dream! . . ." But she immediately recovered herself. — "Dmitry Ni- kanorovitch," — she said: — "is it indispensably — indispensably necessary that you should go? " " Yes, Anna Vasilievna." Anna Vasilievna looked at him. " Okh, Dmitry Nikanorovitch, God grant that you may never experience what I am now ex- periencing! . . . But you will promise me to take good care of her, to love her .... You shall never suffer want as long as I am living! " 239 ON THE EVE Tears choked her voice. She opened her arms, and Elena and InsaroiF fell on her breast. The fatal day arrived at last. It was arranged that Elena should say good-bye to her parents at home, and should set out on the journey from InsarofF's lodgings. The departure was ap- pointed for twelve o'clock. A quarter of an hour before that time, BerseneiF arrived. He had supposed that he would find at InsarofF's lodgings his fellow-countrymen who would wish to see him off ; but they had all already gone on ahead; the two mysterious persons with whom the reader is already acquainted (they had served as witnesses at InsarofF's wedding) had also departed. The tailor greeted " the kind gentleman " with a bow ; he had been drinking heavily, it must have been from grief, or, pos- sibly, from joy that he was to get the furniture; his wife speedily led him away. Everything was already in order in the room; a trunk, corded with a rope, stood on the floor. BersenefF fell into thought: many memories passed through his soul. It was long after twelve o'clock, and the pos- tilion had already brought the horses to the door, but " the young pair " still did not make their appearance. At last, hurried footsteps became audible on the stairs, and Elena entered, accom- panied by InsarofF and Shubin. Elena's eyes 240 ON THE EVE were red: she had left her mother lying in a swoon; their parting had been extremely pain- ful. It was more than a week since Elena had seen BerseneiF: of late, he had gone seldom to the StakhofFs. She had not expected to meet him, exclaimed, "You! thanks!" and threw herself on his neck; Insaroff also em- braced him. A harrowing silence ensued. What could those three persons say, what were those three hearts feeling? Shubin comprehended the imperative necessity of putting an end to this anguish by a living sound, a word. " Our trio has assembled together once more," —he said— "for the last time! Let us submit to the decree of fate, let us bear in mind the good times that are past, and enter upon the new hf e with God's blessing ! ' God bless you on your distant road,' " he struck up, and stopped. He suddenly felt ashamed and awkward. It is a sin to sing where a corpse is lying; and, at that moment, in that room, that past died to which he had alluded, the past of the people who were assembled there. It died for the regenera- tion of a new life, let us assume ; . . . but, never- theless, it died. " Well, Elena," began InsaroiF, addressing his wife,—" everything is ready, I think. Everything is paid for, packed. Nothing re- mains to be done, except to carry out this trunk. Landlord!" 241 ON THE EVE The landlord entered the room, accompanied by his wife and daughter. He listened, reeling slightly as he did so, to Insaroff' s order, threw the trunk on his shoulders, and ran swiftly down the stairs, clattering his boots as he went. " Now, according to the Russian custom, we must sit down," remarked Insaroff. They all seated themselves: Berseneff placed himself on the little old couch; Elena sat down beside him; the landlady and her little daughter squatted down on the threshold. All became si- lent; all were smiling in a constrained way, and no one knew why he was smiling; each one wanted to say something by way of good-bye, and each one (with the exception, of course, of the landlady and her daughter: they merely stared with all their might) —each felt that at such moments it is permissible to say nothing but commonplaces, that any significant, or witty, or even cordial word would be, somehow, out of place, would almost have a false ring. Insaroff was the first to rise to his feet and begin to cross himself . . . . " Farewell, our dear little room! " he exclaimed. Kisses resounded, the loud but cold kisses of parting, good wishes for the journey half ut- tered, promises to write, the last, half -stifled words of farewell .... Elena, all bathed in tears, had already taken her seat in the travelling-sledge; Insaroff was 242 ON THE EVE carefully tucking the lap -robe around her feet; Shiibin, BersenefF, the landlord, his wife, his little daughter with the inevitable kerchief on her head, the yard-porter, a strange artisan in a striped kaftan — were all standing on the front steps, when, suddenly, into the courtyard dashed an elegant sledge, di'awn by a high-stepping trotter, and from the sledge, shaking the snow from the collar of his coat, sprang out Nikolai Artemievitch. "I have found you still here, thank God!" he exclaimed, and hurried to the travelling- sledge.— " Here, Elena, is our last parental blessing for thee," — he said, bending down under the hood, and pulling from the pocket of his coat a small holy picture, sewn into a velvet bag, he put it round her neck. She burst out sobbing, and began to kiss his hands, and in the meantime his coaclmian drew out from the front part of the sledge a bottle of champagne and three glasses. "Come!" said Nikolai Artemievitch,— but his own tears were fairly trickling down on the beaver collar of his coat, — " we must give you a send-ofF . . . and wish . . . ." he began to pour out the champagne; his hands shook, the foam rose over the rim and dripped on the snow. He took one glass, and gave the other two to Elena and InsarofF, who had already taken his place by her side.—" God grant you ..." be- 243 ON THE EVE gan Nikolai Artemievitch, and could not finish his sentence— and drank off his wine; they also drank theirs.—" Now it is your turn, gentle- men," he said, addressing Shiibin and BersenefF, —but at that moment the postilion started his horses. Nikolai Artemievitch ran along by the side of the sledge. "See that thou writest to us," — he said in a broken voice. Elena thrust out her head, said, " Good-bye, papa, Andrei Petrovitch, Pavel Yakovlevitch ; good-bye, all; good-bye, Russia! " and threw herself back. The postilion flourished his whip and whistled; the travelling-sledge turned to the right after it had passed the gate, its runners squeaking as it did so, and vanished. 244 XXXIII It was a brilliant April day. Along the broad lagoon which separates Venice from the narrow strip of alluvial sea-sand called the Lido, a sharp- beaked gondola was skimming along, rocking in cadence at every surge which fell on the gondo- lier's long oar. Beneath its low roof, on soft leather cushions, sat Elena and Insaroff . Elena's features had not altered much since the day of her departure from Moscow ; but their expression had become different: it was more thoughtful and stern, and her eyes looked forth more boldly. Her whole body had blossomed out, and her hair seemed to lie in more splendid and luxuriant masses along her white brow and her rosy cheeks. Only in her lips, when she was not smiling, there was expressed, by a barely per- ceptible fold, the presence of a secret, ever-pres- ent anxiety. The expression of InsarofF's face, on the other hand, had remained the same as of yore, but his features had undergone a cruel change. He had grown haggard and old, he had grown pale and bent; he coughed almost in- cessantly, with a short, dry cough; and his sunken eyes shone with a strange glare. 245 ON THE EVE On the road from Russia, Insaroff had lain ill for nearly two months at Vienna, and only at the end of March had he arrived with his wife at Venice: thence he hoped to make his way through Zara to Servia and Bulgaria; all other roads were closed to him. War was already rag- ing on the Danube,— England and France had declared war on Russia,— all the Slavonic lands were seething and preparing to rise in revolt. The gondola landed on the inner edge of the Lido. Elena and Insaroff wended their way along the narrow sandy path, planted with con- sumptive little trees (they are planted every year, and every year they die ) , to the outer edge of the Lido, to the sea. They strolled along the shore. The Adriatic rolled before them its dull-blue waves; they were foaming, hissing, running up on the shore, and flowing back, leaving behind them on the sand tiny shells and fragments of seaweed. "What a melancholy place!" remarked Elena. " I 'm afraid it is too cold for thee, but I can guess why thou hast wished to come hither." "Cold!" returned Insaroff, with a swift but bitter laugh. " A pretty soldier I shall be, if I am to fear the cold. And I have come hither . . . I will tell thee why. I gaze at this sea, and it seems to me that from here my native land is nearer. It lies yonder, thou knowest,"— he 246 ON THE EVE added, stretching out his hand toward the East. — " And the wind is blowing from that direc- tion." " Is not this wind bringing in the vessel which thou art expecting?" said Elena: — " yonder is a sail gleaming white, — can that be it? " InsarofP gazed out on the distant sea, in the direction indicated by Elena. " Renditch promised that he would arrange everything for us in the course of a week," he remarked. " I think we can rely upon him .... Hast thou heard, Elena? " he added, with sudden animation: — "they say that the poor Dalmatian fishermen have contributed their lead sinkers— thou knowest, those weights which make the net fall to the bottom— for bullets! They had no money, and their only means of livelihood is their fishing; but they joyfully surrendered their last resource, and now they are starving. What a race! " " Aufgepasst!" shouted an arrogant voice behind them. The dull trampling of horses' hoofs resounded, and an Austrian officer, in a short grey tunic and a green military cap, galloped past them .... They barely managed to get out of the way. Insaroff stared gloomily after him. " He is not to blame,"— said Elena,—" thou knowest, they have no other place here where they can ride." 247 ON THE EVE " He is not to blame,"— returned InsarofF,— " but he has set my blood to boiling with his shout, his moustache, his cap, with liis whole appearance. Let us go back." " Yes, let us go back, Dmitry. Besides, it really is windy here. Thou didst not take care of thyself after thy Moscow illness, and didst pay for it in Vienna. Thou must be more care- ful now." InsarofF made no reply, but the same bitter sneer as before flitted across his lips. " Let us have a row on the Canal Grande, shall we not? "—went on Elena. " For during all the time we have been here, we have never yet had a good look at Venice. And let us go to the theatre this evening: I have two tickets for a box. We will devote this day to each other, we will forget politics, war, everything, we will know only one thing : that we are living, breath- ing, thinking together, that we are united for- ever Shall we? " " Thou wishest it, Elena,"— replied Insaroff, — " consequently, I wish it also." " I knew it,"— remarked Elena, with a smile. — " Come along, come along." They returned to the gondola, seated them- selves in it, and ordered the man to row them, in a leisurely way, along the Canal Grande. Any one who has not seen Venice in April can hardly be said to be acquainted with all the 248 ON THE EVE indescribable charms of that enchanted city. The mildness and softness of spring become Venice, as the brilliant summer sun becomes magnificent Genoa, as the gold and purple of au- tumn become the grand old city,— Rome. Like the spring, the beauty of Venice touches and arouses the desire: it pains and torments the in- experienced heart, like the promise of a non- enigmatic but mysterious happiness near at hand. Everything in it is bright, comprehen- sible, and everything is enwrapped in a dreamy haze of a sort of love-stricken silence: every- thing in it holds its peace, and everything breathes a welcome; everything in it is feminine, beginning with its very name: not for nothing has to it alone been given the title of " The Beautiful." The huge masses of the palaces and churches stand light and splendid, like the beautiful dream of a young god; there is some- thing fabulous, something enchantingly strange in the green-grey gleam and the silken play of hues of the dumb water in the canals, in the noiseless flight of the gondolas, in the ab- sence of harsh city sounds, of coarse pounding, rattling, and uproar. " Venice is dying, Venice is deserted," its inhabitants say to you; but per- chance all she needs is this very last charm, the charm of fading in the very bloom and tri- umph of her beauty. He wlio has not seen her, does not know her: neither Canaletto nor 249 ON THE EVE Guardi— not to mention the more modern ar- tists — is capable of reproducing that silvery tenderness of the air, that fleeting and near- lying distance, that wonderful combination of the most elegant outlines and melting beauties. It is useless for the man who has ended his career, who has been broken by life, to visit Venice: it will be bitter to him, like the memory of unfulfilled dreams of his earliest days; but it will be sweet for him in whom the forces are still seething, who feels himself fortunate; let him bring his happiness beneath her enchanted sky, and no matter how radiant it may be, she will gild it still more with her never-fading aure- ole. The gondola in which sat InsarofF and Elena floated softly past the Riva dei Schiavoni, the Palace of the Doges, the Piazzetta, and en- tered the Canal Grande. On both sides stretched marble palaces ; they appeared to be gliding softly past, hardly affording the glance an opportu- nity to embrace and comprehend their beauties. Elena felt profoundly happy; in the azure of her heaven one dark cloud had hung — and it had departed: InsarofF was much better that day. They went as far as the sharp arch of the Rialto, and turned back. Elena was afraid of the cold in the churches, for Insaroff ; but she remembered the Accademia delle Belle Arti, and ordered the gondolier to proceed thither. They had soon made the round of all the halls 250 ON THE EVE of that small museum. Being neither connois- seurs nor dilettanti, they did not pause before every picture, they did not force themselves: a sort of brilliant cheerfulness had unexpectedly taken possession of them. Everything suddenly seemed to them very amusing. (Children are familiar with that feeling.) To the great scan- dal of three English visitors, Elena laughed aloud, until tears came, over Tintoretto's " Saint Mark" leaping down from heaven into the water, like a frog, to the rescue of a tortured slave; on his side, InsarofF went into ecstasies over the back and calves of the energetic man in the green mantle who stands in the foreground of Titian's " Ascension," and raises his hand after the Madonna ; on the other hand, that same Ma- donna, a beautiful robust woman calmly and majestically ascending to the bosom of God the Father, impressed both InsarofF and Elena; they liked also the severe and holy picture of the old man Cima da Conegliano. On emerging from the academy, they once more glanced round at the Englishmen, with long, rabbit's teeth and drooping side-whiskers, who were walking behind them, — and broke out laughing; they caught sight of their gondolier with his bob- tailed jacket and short trousers,— and laughed; they saw a huckstress with a little knot of grey hair on the crown of her head,— and laughed harder than ever; at last, they looked one an- 251 ON THE EVE other in the face,— and roared with laughter; and as soon as they had taken their seats in the gon- dola, they clasped each other's hands very, very tight. They reached the hotel, ran to their room, and ordered dinner to be served. Their mer- riment did not desert them even at table. They helped each other to food, they drank to the health of their Moscow friends, they clapped their hands at the cameriere for the savoury dish of fish, and kept demanding of him live frutti di mare; the cameriere shrugged his shoulders and bowed, but when he left the room he shook his head, and even whispered with a sigh: '' Pover- etti!" ("Poor things!") After dinner they went to the theatre. At the theatre one of Verdi's operas was being played, a decidedly commonplace affair, to tell the truth, but one which had already managed to make the round of all the stages in Europe, and is well known to us Russians—" Traviata." The season in Venice was over, and none of the sing- ers rose above the level of mediocrity; each one shrieked with all his might. The part of Vio- letta was sung by a petty artist who had no reputation, and, judging by the coldness of the audience toward her, she was not a favourite, al- though not devoid of talent. She was a young, not very pretty, black - eyed girl, with a voice which was not quite even and already cracked. Her costume was motley and bad to 252 ON THE EVE the point of absurdity: a red net covered her hair, her gown of faded blue satin compressed her bosom, thick undressed kid gloves reached to her sharp elbows ; and how was she, the daugh- ter of some Bergamo shepherd, to know how the demi-mondaines of Paris dress! And she did not know how to carry herself on the stage ; but there was a great deal of truth and artless sim- plicity in her acting, and she sang with that peculiar passion of expression and rhythm of which Italians alone are capable. Elena and In- sarofF sat alone in a dark box, close to the stage ; the frolicsome mood which had come over them in the Accademia delle Belle Arti had not yet passed off. When the father of the unhappy young man who had fallen into the toils of the temptress made his appearance on the stage, in a greenish- grey dress-suit and a rmnpled white wig, opened his mouth askew, and, seized in advance with stage-fright, emitted a mournful bass trem- olo, both of them came near bursting with laughter But Violettas acting affected them. " They hardly applaud that poor girl at all," said Elena, — " but I prefer her a thousand times over to any self-confident, second-rate celebrity, who would put on airs, and writhe, and strive after effect. Apparently, this one does not take it as a jest herself; see, she does not perceive the audience." 253 ON THE EVE Insaroff leaned on the edge of the box, and gazed intently at Violetta. " Yes,"— he muttered,— " she is not jesting: she reeks of death." Elena held her peace. The third act began. The curtain rose Elena shuddered at sight of the bed, of the curtains hung about it, of the medicine-bottles, of the shaded lamp . . . She recalled the recent past . . . . " And the future? And the pres- ent? " flashed through her mind. As though ex- pressly in reply to the simulated cough of the singer, InsarofF's dull, unfeigned cough rang out in the box Elena shot a stealthy glance at him, and immediately imparted to her features a tranquil, composed expression. In- saroff understood her, and he himself began to smile, and almost to hum an accompaniment to the singing. But he soon stopped. Violetta s acting grew better and better, more and more free. She re- jected everything irrelevant, everything that was not necessary, and found herself: rare and loftiest happiness of the artist! She suddenly crossed the line which it is impossible to define, but on the farther side of which dwells beauty. The audience was startled, amazed. The homely girl with the cracked voice was beginning to get them into her hands, to take possession of them. And the singer's voice no longer sounded 254> ON THE EVE cracked: it had warmed up and grown strong. Alfredo made his appearance; Violettas joyful cry aknost aroused that storm whose name is fanatis7riOj, and in the presence of which all our Northern howls are as nothing .... A moment more— and the audience subsided. The duet began, the best number in the opera, in which the composer has succeeded in expressing all the regrets of madly wasted youth, the last struggle of desperate and impotent love. Car- ried away, swept on by the breath of general sympathy, with tears of artistic joy and of genuine suffering in her eyes, the songstress sur- rendered herself to the flood which had raised her on its crest, her face became transfigured, and in the presence of suddenly approaching death, with an outburst of entreaty which reached to heaven, the words were wrung from her : " Lascia mi vivere . . . morir si giovane! " (" Let me live ... to die so young! ") , and the whole theatre pealed with the applause of fren- zied clapping and rapturous shouts. Elena had turned cold all over. She began gently to seek with her hand the hand of In- sarofF, found it, and clasped it tightly. He re- turned her pressure ; but she did not look at him, neither did he look at her. This pressure did not resemble the one with which, a few hours earlier, they had greeted each other in the gon- dola. 255 ON THE EVE They rowed to their hotel along the Canal Grande again. Night had already set in,— the bright, soft night. The same palaces stretched forth to meet them, but they seemed different. Those of them which were illmninated by the moon shone golden white, and in that very white- ness the details of the decorations and the out- lines of windows and balconies seemed to dis- appear; they stood out more distinctly on the buildings flooded with the light mist of the level shadow. The gondolas, with their tiny red lights, seemed to glide along more inaudibly and swiftly than ever; mysteriously gleamed their steel beaks, mysteriously did the oars rise and fall on the troubled ripples like tiny silver fishes ; here and there, the gondoHers uttered brief, not loud cries (they never sing nowadays) ; almost no other sounds were audible. The hotel where InsarofF and Elena were living was on the Riva dei Schiavoni; before reaching it, they left the gondola, and walked several times around the Square of San Marco beneath the arcade, where, in front of the tiny cafes, a multitude of holiday- makers was thronging. There is something peculiarly agreeable about walking alone, with a beloved being, in a strange city, among stran- gers : everything seems most beautiful and signif- icant, one wishes everybody good, and peace, and the same happiness wherewith one is one's self filled. But Elena could no longer give herself 256 ON THE EVE up without anxiety to the consciousness of her happiness: her heart, shaken by recent impres- sions, could not recover its composure; and In- sarofF, as they passed the Palace of the Doges, pointed, in silence, to the mouths of the Austrian cannon, peeping out from beneath the low- browed arches, and pulled his hat down over his eyes. Besides, he felt fatigued,— and, bestow- ing a last glance on the Church of San Marco, on its domes, where, beneath the rays of the moon spots of phosphorescent light were kindled on the bluish leads, they slowly wended their way homeward. The windows of their little chamber looked out on the broad lagoon which extends from the Riva dei Schiavoni to the Giudecca. Almost directly opposite their hotel rose the sharp- pointed tower of San Giorgio ; on the right, high in the air, glittered the golden globe of the Dogana; and decked out like bride stood the most beautiful of churches, the Redentore of Palladius; on the left the masts and yards of ships, the smoke-stacks of steamers, were out- lined in black; here and there, like a huge wing, hung a half -reefed sail, the pennants barely stir- ring. Insaroff seated himself at the window, but Elena did not permit him to enjoy the view for long; fever suddenly made its appearance, and a sort of devouring weakness seized upon him. She put him to bed, and waiting until he 257 ON THE EVE fell asleep, she softly returned to the window. Oh, how still and caressing was the night, what dovelike gentleness did the azure air breathe forth, how ought every suffering, every sorrow, to hold its peace and lapse into slumber beneath these holy innocent rays! "Oh, my God!" thought Elena,— "why does death exist, why is there parting, illness, tears? or why this beauty, this delightful feeling of hope, why the soothing consciousnss of a sure refuge, of deathless pro- tection? What means this smiling, benevolent heaven, this happy, resting earth? Can it be that this is only in us, and that outside of us is eternal cold and silence? Can it be that we are alone .... alone .... while yonder, everywhere, in all those impenetrable abysses and depths, — everything, everything is alien to us? Why then this yearning for and delight in prayer? " {'' Moiir si giovane!" resounded in her soul. ) . . . . " Can it be, that it is impossible to implore, to bring back happiness? . . . O God ! can it be, that it is impossible to believe in a miracle?" She bowed her head on her clasped hands. " Is it ended? " she whispered. "Can it be that it is at an end ! I have been happy, not min- utes, not hours, not whole days— no, whole weeks in succession. And by what right? " Her happi- ness frightened her. " And what if it cannot be?" she thought. "What if this is not to be had without paying for it? For it has been hea- 258 ON THE EVE ven .... and we mortals, poor, sinful mortals .... Morir si giovane! . . . O, dark spectre, begone ! not for me alone is his life necessary ! " But what if this is — a punishment? " — she thought again; "what if we must now pay the full price for our fault? My conscience held its peace, it is silent now, but is that any proof of innocence? O God, can we have been so very wicked? Can it be that Thou, who hast created this night, this sky, wilt chastise us for having loved? And if it be so, if he be guilty, if I am guilty," — she added, in an involuntary outburst, — " then grant, O God, that he may die, that we may both die, at least an honourable, a glorious death — yonder, in the fields of his fatherland, but not here, not in this obscure room! " And how about the grief of my poor, lonely mother?" she asked herself, and became con- fused, and found no reply to her own question. Elena did not know that the happiness of every mortal is founded on the unhappiness of another, that even his advantage and comfort demand — as a stature demands a pedestal— the disadvan- tage and discomfort of others. "Renditch!" muttered InsaroiF in his sleep. Elena went to him on tiptoe, bent over him, and wiped the perspiration from his brow. He tossed about a little on his pillow, and quieted down. 259 ON THE EVE She returned to the window, and again medi- tations engrossed her. She began to persuade herself, and assure herself that there was no cause for alarm. She even felt ashamed of her weakness. " Can there be any danger? Is not he better? " she whispered. " Why, if we had not been to the theatre to-night, all this would never have entered my mind." At that moment she espied, high above the water, a white sea-gull ; some fisherman had, probably, frightened it, and it was soaring silently, with uneven flight, as though looking out for a place where it could alight. " There now, if it flies hither," thought Elena, " it will be a good sign." .... The sea- gull circled slowly in one spot, folded its wings, and, as though it had been shot, fell, with a pitiful cry, somewhere far away, on a dark ship. Elena shuddered, and then felt ashamed for having shuddered. And, without undressing, she lay down on the bed beside Insaroff, who was breathing fast and heavily. 260 XXXIV Insaroff awoke late, with a dull pain in his head, with a feeling, as he expressed it, of horri- ble weakness all over his body. Nevertheless, he rose. " Renditch has not come? " was his first ques- tion. " Not yet," replied Elena, and gave him the last number of the Osservatore Triestino, in which a great deal was said about the war, about the Slavonic lands, about the principalities. In- saroff began to read ; she busied herself with pre- paring coffee for him .... Some one knocked at the door. " Renditch," thought both of them, but the person who had knocked said in Russian: " May I come in?" Elena and Insaroff exchanged a glance of astonishment, and, without waiting for their answer, there entered the room a fop- pishly-attired man with a small, pointed face and bold little eyes. He was beaming all over, as though he had just won a huge sum of money or had heard a pleasing piece of news. Insaroff half -rose from his chair. 261 ON THE EVE " You do not recognise me," — began the stranger, advancing to him in a free and easy manner, and bowing amiably to Elena. — " Lu- poyarofF, you remember ? We met in Moscow, at the E . . . s." " Yes, at the E . . . s," said InsarofF. " Of course, of course! I beg that you will present me to your wife. Madame, I have al- ways cherished a profound respect for Dmitry Vasilievitch . . . . "— (he corrected himself) : " Nikanor Vasilievitch,— and am very happy that, at last, I have the honour of making your acquaintance. Just imagine," he went on, turn- ing to Insaroff — " I learned only last night that you were here. I, also, am stopping in this ho- tel. What a city this Venice is— poetry itself, and that 's all there is to it ! There 's one fright- ful thing about it: these cursed Austrians at every step! — I can't abide the Austrians! By the way, have you heard that a decisive battle has taken place on the Danube: three hundred Turkish officers have been killed, Silistria has been captured, Servia has already declared her- self independent, — you, as a patriot, ought to be in raptures, ought n't you? The Slavonic blood in me is fairly boiling! But I would advise you to be extremely cautious; I am convinced that you are being watched. The spying here is aw- ful! yesterday a suspicious sort of man ap- proached me and asked : ' Are j^ou a Russian ? ' 262 ON THE EVE I told him I was a Dane. . . . But you must be ill, my dearest Nikanor Vasilievitch. You ought to take a course of treatment; madame, you ought to doctor your husband .... Yester- day, I was running about the palaces and churches like a madman — you have been in the Palace of the Doges, of course ? What wealth everywhere ! Especially that great hall, and the Place of Ma- rino Faliero; there it stands: decapitati pro criminibus. I have been in the famous prisons: that 's where my soul was troubled — I have al- ways been fond — as perhaps you will remem- ber — of occupying myself with social problems, and have rebelled against the aristocracy — that 's where I would have taken the defenders of the aristocracy: to those prisons; justly did Byron say: ' I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs '; however, he was an aristocrat too. I always was for progress. The young generation is all for progress. But how about the Anglo-French? Let us see whether they will accomplish much: Bustrapa and Palmerston. Palmerston has be- come Prime Minister, you know. No, — whatever you may say, a Russian usurer is no joke. That Bustrapa is a frightful scoundrel! I '11 give you Victor Hugo's ' Les Chatiments ' if you would like it— it 's wonderful! ' UAvenir le gendarme de Dieu' is rather boldly put— but it 's strong, strong. Prince Vyazemsky also said well : ' Europe keeps reiterating : Bash-Kadyk 263 ON THE EVE Lar,* never taking its eyes from Sinope! ' I love poetry. I also have Prud'hon's last book, I have everything. I don't know how you feel about it, but I am glad of the war,— if only they don't order me home, for I am planning to go from here to Florence — to Rome: it 's impossible to go to France— so I am thinking of going to Spain — the women are wonderful there, they say, only there 's a lot of poverty and insects. I would take a flying trip to California, — we Russians can do everything without an effort, — only, I promised an editor that I would study in detail the question of commerce in the Mediterranean. It is not an interesting subject, you will say, it is a special subject, but we need — we need spe- cialists, we have philosophised enough, and now we must have practice, practice. . . . But you are very ill, Nikanor Vasilievitch, perhaps I am tiring you; but never mind, I will stay a little longer " And Lupoyaroff continued to chatter on in the same strain for a good while longer, and when he went away he promised to come again. Exhausted by the unexpected visit, InsarofF lay down on the couch. — " There," — he said, with a glance at Elena,—" there 's our young generation for you! Some of them put on airs 1 Near this settlement in the Government of Kars, in November, 1853, a force of ten thousand Russian troops won a brilliant victory over a force of thirty-six thousand Turks. Sinope was the scene of another victory in the same year.— Translator. 264 ON THE EVE of dignity and show off, but in their souls they are just such empty whistlers as that gentle- man." Elena made no reply to her husband: at that moment, she was much more disquieted over In- sarofF's feebleness than by the condition of the rising generation in Russia. . . . She seated herself by his side, and took up her work. He closed his eyes, and lay motionless, all pale and gaunt. Elena glanced at his sharply outlined profile, at his drawn hands, and a sudden terror gripped her heart. " Dmitry . . . ." she began. He started.— " Well, has Renditch come?'* " Not yet .... but thou hast fever, thou really art not quite well, shall not I send for a doctor? What thinkest thou? " " That gabbler has alarmed thee. It is not necessary. I will rest a little, and it will all pass off. After dinner, we will go out again .... somewhere." Two hours passed. . . . Insaroff still lay on the couch, but could not get to sleep, although he did not open his eyes. Elena did not leave him: she dropped her work on her knees, and did not stir. '* Why dost not thou go to sleep? " she asked him at last. " Why, here, wait." — He took her hand, and laid it under his head. — " There, that 's . . . . 265 ON THE EVE good. Wake me immediately, when Renditch comes. If he says that the vessel is ready, we will set out immediately. . . . Everything must be packed." " It will not take long to pack," replied Elena. " But that man babbled about a battle, about Servia," — said Insaroff, a little while later. — " He must have invented the whole of it. But we must go, we must. We must lose no time. . . . Be ready." He fell asleep, and everything became silent in the room. Elena leaned her head against the back of her chair, and gazed for a long time out of the win- dow. The weather had changed for the worse; the wind had risen. Large, white clouds were sweeping swiftly athwart the sky, a slender mast was swaying in the distance, a long pennant with a red cross rose and fell incessantly, rose and fell again. The pendulum of the ancient clock beat heavily, with a sort of mournful, hiss- ing sound. Elena closed her eyes. She had slept badly all night; gradually she sank into a doze. She dreamed a strange dream. It seems to her that she is floating in a boat on the Tzari- tzyn pond, with some people whom she does not know. They maintain silence, and sit motion- less; no one is rowing; the boat moves along of its own volition. Elena does not feel afraid, but 266 ON THE EVE she finds it dull; she wants to discover who the people are, and why she is with them. She gazes, the pond widens out, the banks disappear — it is no longer a pond, but a troubled sea: vast, azure, silent waves rock the boat majestically; something rumbling and menacing rises from the bottom; her unknown fellow-travellers sud- denly jump up, shout, flourish their arms Elena recognises their faces: her father is one of them. But some sort of a white whirlwind sweeps over the waves .... everything reels, grows confused Elena surveys her surroundings; as before, everything round about is white. But it is snow, snow, a boundless expanse of snow. And she is no longer in a boat, she is driving in a travel- ling-sledge, as she did out of Moscow; she is not alone : by her side sits a tiny being, wrapped up in an old sleeved cloak. Elena scrutinises it closely: it is Katya, her poor little friend. Elena grows frightened. " Is n't she dead? " she thinks. " Katya, whither are thou and I going? " Katya makes no reply, and wraps herself still more closely in her miserable little cloak. Elena feels cold also; she gazes along the road: the town is visible far away, athwart a veil of snow-dust, — the lofty white towers with their silver domes . . . . " Katya, Katya, is this Mos- cow? " " No," thinks Elena, " it is the Solovet- 267 ON THE EVE zk Monastery : ^ there are a great many tiny, cramped cells there, as in a beehive; it is stifling, crowded there,— Dmitry is imprisoned there. I must set him free " . . . . All at once, a gray, yawning abyss opens in front of her. The trav- elling-sledge falls, Katya laughs. " Elena, Elena!" a voice from the chasm makes itself heard. "Elena!" rang distinctly in her ears. She raised her head quickly, turned round, and was stupefied: InsarofF, white as snow — the snow of her dream— had half -raised himself from the couch, and was gazing at her with brilliant, dreadful eyes. His hair lay dishevelled on his brow, his lips were open in a strange fashion. Horror, mingled with a sort of painful emotion, was expressed on his suddenly altered face. "Elena!"— he articulated;— " I am dying." With a shriek she fell upon her knees, and pressed herself to his breast. "All is over! "—repeated InsaroiF:— " I am dying! . . . Farewell, my poor child! Fare- well, my own darling!" . . . And he fell back at full length on the couch. Elena flew out of the room and began to call for help ; the cameriere ran for the doctor. Elena leaned over Insaroff*. At that moment, on the threshold of the door, a broad-shouldered, sun-burned man made his 1 In the White Sea.— Traxslatoe. 268 ON THE EVE appearance, clad in a thick frieze coat and a low-crowned oil-skin hat. He halted in per- plexity. " Renditch! "—exclaimed Elena— "it is you! Look, for God's sake, he is in a swoon! What ails him? O God! O God! He was out of doors yesterday, he has just been talking to me . . . ." Renditch said nothing, and merely moved aside. Past him slipped briskly a tiny figure in a wig and spectacles: he was a doctor who lived in the hotel. He went up to InsarofF. " Signora,"— he said, a few moments later,— " the stranger is dead— il signore forestiere e morto — from an aneurism, coupled with a mal- ady of the lungs." 269 XXXV On the following day, Renditch was standing at the window of that same room; in front of him, enveloped in a shawl, sat Elena. In the adjoining room, InsarofF was lying in his coffin. Elena's face was both terrified and inanimate; two wrinkles had made their appearance on her forehead, between her eyebrows: they imparted a strained expression to her immovable eyes. On the window-sill lay an open letter from Anna Vasilievna. She invited her daughter to come to Moscow, if only for a month, complained of her loneliness, of Nikolai Artemievitch, sent her regards to Insaroff, inquired about his health, and begged him to let his wife come. Renditch was a Dalmatian, a sailor, with whom Insaroff had become acquainted during his journey to his native land, and whom he had hunted up in Venice. He was a surly, rough, old man, and devoted to the Slavonic cause. He despised the Turks, and hated the Austrians. " How long are you going to remain in Venice? " Elena asked him in Italian. And her voice was as lifeless as her face. *' One day, in order to take on freight, and not 270 ON THE EVE to arouse suspicion, and then I go straight to Zara. I shall not gladden my fellow-country- men. They have been waiting for him this long while; their hopes were set on him." " Their hopes were set on him,"— repeated Elena mechanically. "When shall you bury him?" asked Ren- ditch. Elena did not reply at once.—" To-morrow." "To-morrow? I will remain: I wish to cast a handful of earth into his grave. And I must help you. But it would be better to lay him in Slavonic earth." Elena glanced at Renditch. " Captain,"— she said,—" take me with him, and carry us to the other side of the sea, far away from here. Can it be done? " Renditch reflected.—" It can, only it will be bothersome. We shall have trouble with the cursed authorities here. But, assuming that we can arrange all that, and that we bury him yon- der; how am I to get you back here? " " You need not bring me back." "What? Where will you stay? " " I will find a place for myself; only take us— take me." Renditch scratched the back of his head.— " As you like, but this is all very bothersome. I will go and find out : and do you await me here, a couple of hours hence." 271 ON THE EVE He left the room. Elena passed into the ad- joining chamber, leaned against the wall, and stood there a long time, as though she had been turned to stone. Then she sank on her knees, but could not pray. In her soul there was no repining; she did not dare to ask God why He had not spared, why He had not shown com- passion, had not saved; why He had chastised from on high the fault, if fault there had been. Each of us is guilty through the mere fact that he lives, and there is no thinker so great, there is no benefactor of mankind who, by virtue of the benefits he has conferred, can rely upon the right to live .... But Elena could not pray: she was turned to stone. That same night, a broad boat rowed away from the hotel where the InsarofFs had resided. In the boat sat Elena and Renditch, and a long box stood there covered with a black cloth. They sailed for about an hour, and finally reached a small, two-masted vessel which was riding at anchor at the very mouth of the harbor. Elena and Renditch boarded the vessel; the sail- ors carried the box on board. About midnight a storm arose, but by early morning the ship had passed the Lido. In the course of the day the storm raged with frightful violence, and the ex- perienced sailors in the offices of " Lloyd's " shook their heads, and expected nothing good. The Adriatic Sea, between Venice, Trieste, 272 ON THE EVE and the Dalmatian shore, is extremely dan- gerous. Three weeks after Elena's departure from Venice, Anna Vasilievna received in Moscow the following letter: (( My dear parents, I am bidding you farewell forever. You will never see me more. Dmitry died yesterday. All is at an end for me. To-day I am setting out for Zara with his body. I shall bury him, and what will become of me, I do not know ! But I have no longer any fatherland except D's fatherland. An insurrection is in preparation there, they are making ready for war; I shall go as a sister of mercy : I shall nurse the sick, the wounded. I do not know what will become of me, but even after Dmitry's death I shall remain faithful to his memory, to his life''s work. I have learned Bulgarian and Servian. Probably I shall not survive all this — so much the better. I have been brought to the verge of the abyss, and must fall in. Not in vain did Fate unite us: perhaps I killed him, who knows ; now it is his turn to draw me after him. I sought happiness — and perchance I shall find death. Evidently, so it had to be; evidently, there was a fault .... But death palliates and reconciles all things, — does it not ? Forgive me for all the sorrow I have caused you: it was against my will. But why should I return to Russia ? What is there to do in Russia ? ' 'Accept my last kisses and blessings, and do not con- demn me." E. About five years have passed since then, and no further news has arrived of Elena. All let- 273 ON THE EVE ters and inquiries have been fruitless: in vain did Nikolai Artemievitch himself, after the con- clusion of peace, travel to Venice — to Zara; in Venice he learned what is already known to the reader, but in Zara no one could give him any decisive information concerning Renditch and the vessel which he had hired. Obscure rumours were in circulation, to the effect that, several years previously, the sea, after a violent storm, had cast up on the shore a coffin in which had been found the corpse of a man .... Accord- ing to other, more trustworthy information, the coffin in question had not been cast up by the sea at all, but had been brought and interred close to the shore by a foreign lady who had come from Venice; some persons added that that lady had afterward been seen in Herze- govina with the army which was then assem- bling; they even described her attire, black from head to foot. At any rate, all trace of Elena has vanished forever and irretrievably, and no one knows whether she is still alive, whether she is hiding herself somewhere, or whether the little game of life has already come to an end, whether the slight fermentation is ended, and death's turn has come. It sometimes happens that a man, on awaking, will ask himself, with involuntary terror:—" Can it be that I am already thirty . . . forty .... fifty years of age? How has life 274 ON THE EVE passed so swiftly? How has death approached so near? " Death is hke a fisherman who has caught a fish in his net, and leaves it there for a while in the water: the fish still swims, but the net is about it, and the fisherman will haul it in — when he sees fit. What has become of the other personages of our story? Anna Vasilievna is still alive; she has aged greatly since the blow which overtook her; she grumbles less, but grieves much more. Nikolai Artemievitch also has grown old and gray, and has parted from Augustina Christianovna. . . . He now curses everything foreign. His house- keeper, a handsome woman, a Russian, thirty years of age, goes about in silken gowns, and wears gold finger-rings and earrings. Kurna- tovsky, like a man with a temperament, and in his quality of an energetic dark-complexioned person, an admirer of fair-haired women, has married Zoya; he keeps her in strict subjection, and she has even ceased to think in German. BersenefF is in Heidelberg: he was sent abroad at the expense of the Government; he has vis- ited Berlin and Paris, and is not wasting his time; he will turn out a clever philosopher. The learned public has taken notice of his articles " Concerning certain Peculiarities of the Old 275 ON THE EVE Germanic Law, in the Matter of Judicial Punish- ments" and " Concerning the Significance of the Town Principle in the Question of Civili- sation"; only it is a pity that both articles should be written in rather a heavy style and mottled with foreign words. Shiibin is in Rome ; he has consecrated himself wholly to his art, and is regarded as one of the most remarkable and promising of the young sculptors. Strict tour- ists think that he has not sufficiently studied the ancients, that he has not " style," and reckon him as belonging to the French school; he has multitudes of orders from the English and the Americans. One of his bacchantes created a great sensation recently; the Russian Count Boboshkin, the well-known plutocrat, was on the point of purchasing it for one thousand scudi, but preferred to give three thousand to another sculptor, a Frenchman pur sang^ for a group representing " A young Peasant-girl dy- ing of love on the breast of the Genius of Spring." Shubin now and then corresponds with Uvar Ivanovitch, who alone has not changed in the least or in any way. " Do you remember," he wrote to him, lately, " what you said to me on the night when poor Elena's mar- riage became known, when I was sitting on your bed and chatting with you? Do you remember, how I asked you then whether there would be men among us, and you answered me : * There 276 ON THE EVE will.' O black - earth force ! And now, here, from this place, from my ' most beautiful dis- tance,' once more I ask you:— Well, how now, Uvar Ivanovitch, will there be any? " Uvar Ivanovitch wiggled his fingers, and riv- eted his enigmatic gaze on the distance. 277 Z'^^ T 'i -^^ A A 000 338 362 7 CENTRAL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY University of California, San Diego DATE DUE DEC 01 1972 NOV 7 197? UtU 08 1972 WOV 2 7 fifcu *?9 UCSD Libr.