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 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. 
 
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 ''"""^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.