!r 
 
 
 
LEISURE HOUR SERIES 
 
 ON THE EVE 
 
 A TALE 
 
 BY 
 
 TYAN S. TURG^NIEFF 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY 
 
 C. E. TURNER 
 
 English Lector in the University of St. Petersburg 
 Author of " Our Great Writers, 1 1 etc 
 
 AMERICAN EDITION WITH AMENDMENTS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOI/T AND COMPANY 
 1875 
 
PRESERVATION 
 
 COPY ADDED * 
 ORIGINAL TO BE 
 RETAINED 
 
 NOV 2 2; 1995 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 
 
 HOLT & WILLIAMS, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
 JOHN F. TROW & Sow, PRINTERS, 
 205-213 EAST I2TH ST., NEW YORK. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Two Friends I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 4 Bewitching Zoe," 15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Nicholas Artemvitch Stachoff 19 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 An Artist s Aspirations 25 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Disappointed Hopes 33 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Ellen s Characteristic Singularity 42 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Bersieneff s Interview with Insaroff 49 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Youthful Impropriety 55 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A Hopeless Case 64 
 
iv Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A Bulgarian s Wrongs 70 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Insaroff s Work 78 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The Hero Insaroff 85 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Disappearance 92 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Insaroff s Interview with Ellen 97 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 The Picnic 104 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Ellen s Journal 123 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Silent Love 130 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 The Language of Love 139 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 Joyful Assurance 148 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Gentlemanly Revenge 154 
 
Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 PAGB. 
 
 Reactionary Feeling 159 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 The New Bridegroom 162 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 An Unexpected Visitor 171 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Perplexity, and its Serious Results 180 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 The Sick-room 186 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 Good News 195 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 Convalescence 199 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 Repeated Vows 202 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 A Discovery 210 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 The Storm Bursts 218 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 Maternal Affection 230 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 The Parting Hour 235 
 
vi Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 j,-.^* PAGE. 
 A Visit to Venice..,......,,... 242 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 Death 257 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 Departure from Venice 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 Conclusion 269 
 
ON THE; EVE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 ON one of the hottest days in the summer of 1853, 
 two young men were lolling beneath the branches 
 of a lofty lime tree that grew on the banks of the 
 river Moscow, not far from Koontsoff. One of them, 
 seemingly about twenty-three, tall and swarthy, with a 
 sharp and slightly curved nose, lofty forehead, and a 
 quiet smile perpetually playing on his thick lips, lay 
 on his back, musingly gazing into the distance, as he 
 half closed his small grey eyes. The other lay on his 
 breast, his head propped up with both his hands, and, 
 like his friend, gazing at the scene that stretched be 
 fore him. He was three years older than his com 
 panion, though he looked much younger; his mous 
 tache had only just begun to sprout, and his chin was 
 slightly covered with a fine down. There was some 
 thing of the prettiness of a child about him, a kind 
 of pleasing elegance in the youthful features of his 
 plump, fresh face, in his soft brown eyes, his ruddy 
 
2 On the Eve. 
 
 pouting lips and delicate white hands. His whole 
 appearance spoke of that joyous health and careless 
 self-confidence and self-indulgence which form the 
 charm of youth. He glanced about him, smiled, and 
 coquetitijstily propped, ; :u^ ; his head in the way that 
 boys ,who know fhaf they are pleasant to look at, are 
 wont.to doV : He v/ks d raSsefd in a plain white paletot, 
 made in the shape of a blouse, a blue handkerchief 
 was tied loosely round his neck, and a crushed straw 
 hat lay on the grass by his side. 
 
 In comparison with him his companion looked an 
 old man, and no one who observed his position could 
 ever have imagined that he was enjoying himself, and 
 was thoroughly at his ease. He was lying in the most 
 awkward of postures : his head, which was broad at 
 the top, but gradually sharpened towards the chin, sat 
 awkwardly on his long neck : there was an awkward 
 ness in the way he dangled his hands, in his huge body 
 tightly squeezed into a short black surtout, in his long 
 feet and gawky legs, which were exactly like the hind- 
 legs of a dragon-fly. And yet with all this he bore 
 about him the signs of an educated man ; there was 
 an air of gentlemanliness in his very awkwardness, 
 and his face, though far from handsome, and even 
 somewhat comical, wore the expression of thought 
 and of goodness. His name was Andrew Petrovitch 
 Bersieneff; that of his companion, the light-haired 
 young man, was Paul Jakovlevitch Shoubine. 
 
 " Why don t you lie on your breast, as I do ? " 
 
On the Eve. 3 
 
 asked Shoubine ; " it is much better so, particularly 
 if you bring your legs together, and knock your heels 
 against each other, this way. Put your nose down to 
 the grass, you get tired of gazing at the landscape, 
 and watch that frightened maybug see how it crawls 
 along this blade of grass or that ant there which is 
 so full of business. Really, it is much better to lie 
 like this. But you, oh, you have put on quite the 
 pseudo-classical pose, like a ballet-girl as she leans 
 over a pasteboard crag. You should recollect that 
 you have now a full right to breathe at your ease. Is 
 it nothing that you have come out third in the class- 
 list ? Rest, sir ! leave off your fine attitudes, and 
 stretch your legs ! " 
 
 Shoubine delivered this speech through his nose, 
 in a half-idle, half-mocking tone, spoiled children 
 talk in this way to friends who bring them sweetmeats ; 
 and without waiting for an answer went on 
 
 " What strikes me most in ants, beetles, and others 
 of the insect gentry, is their extraordinary seriousness. 
 They run backwards and forwards with as much im 
 portance as if their lives were of the slightest value. 
 And then, at the very moment when man, the lord of 
 creation and paragon of creatures, is looking down 
 upon them from his lofty eminence, a tiny gnat will 
 settle on the nose of this same lord of creation, and 
 make use of it for purposes of nourishment. There 
 is rank offence in all this. And yet, pray, in what is 
 their life worse than ours ? And why may they not give 
 

 On the Eve. 
 
 themselves airs like ourselves ? Ah philosopher, solve 
 me that question. What ! are you silent ? " 
 
 "What were you saying?" muttered Bersieneff, 
 rousing himself from his doze. 
 
 " What was I saying ? " repeated Shoubine ; " your 
 friend talks philosophy to you, and you don t even 
 listen to him." 
 
 "I was admiring the view. Look, with what a 
 warm glow those fields glisten in the sun." Bersieneff 
 lisped a little when he spoke. 
 
 " The great thing is colour," said Shoubine. " In 
 one word, colour is nature ! " 
 
 " You ought to be more enthusiastic about all that 
 than I : it is in your line you are an artist." 
 
 " No, it is not at all in my line," answered Shou 
 bine, as he put his hat on the back of his head. " I 
 am a mere butcher; my business is entirely in flesh, 
 to mould flesh, shoulders, arms, legs : but there is no 
 form in all that, no harmony mere dismembering 
 and hacking." 
 
 " No ; even in that there is beauty," remarked 
 Bersieneff. " By the way, did you finish that stat 
 uette ? " 
 
 " Which ? " 
 
 "The child and goat." 
 
 " Sent it to the devil, to the devil," exclaimed 
 Shoubine, in a drawling tone. " I compared it with 
 nature, with the old masters, with the antique, and 
 broke my rubbish to pieces. You show me this view, 
 
On the Eve. 
 
 V 
 
 and say, There is real beauty. Of coutfge there is beauty 
 in everything, there is even beauty in your npS&ySt? 
 there is no overlooking any beauty. The old mas 
 ters they never hunted after it ; it came of itself into 
 their compositions, God knows whence, from heaven 
 or elsewhere. The whole world belonged to them ; 
 but we are unable to clasp its broad space ; our arms 
 are too Short. We throw out our miserable little fish 
 ing-rod towards one point, provided it is near at hand, 
 a-ftd wait there is a nibble, bravo ! but if there is no 
 nibble " 
 
 Shoubine pushed out his tongue as he spoke. 
 
 " Peace, peace," Bersieneff answered. " All that 
 is mere paradox. If you have no feeling for beauty, 
 do not love her in every form, wherever you may find 
 her, beauty will be forever a stranger to you and your 
 art. If a lovely landscape or lovely music suggest 
 nothing to your soul, I would rather say, if you do 
 not feel with them " 
 
 " Oh, you co-feeler ! " * Shoubine cried out, smil 
 ing at the new word he had coined, though Bersieneff 
 continued thoughtful. " No, brother," Shoubine rat 
 tled on, you are a savant, a philosopher, third in the 
 Moscow University class-list ; and for me, a poor 
 devil of a student who never took any degree at all, to 
 dispute with you is absurd and presumptuous ; but I 
 
 * In the original Russian Bersieneff has used the word sotch* 
 uvitviesh (you sympathise with), upon which Shoubine is made to 
 coin the substantive sotcfuivstuick. 
 
6 On the Eve. 
 
 tell you what, except in art, I love beauty only in 
 woman, in a young girl, and that only since 
 
 He turned over on his back, and put his hands 
 under his head. There was a short silence. The 
 quiet of the sultry noon lay heavy on the glaring 
 drowsy landscape. 
 
 " Talking of women," Shoubine began again, " how 
 is it that nobody takes Stachoff in hand ? You saw 
 him when you were in Moscow ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " The old man has grown a regular fool. The 
 whole day he sits coddling his Augustina : it is dull 
 work even for him, but there he sits. They look at one 
 another so stupidly. Is it not wonderful ? Providence 
 might have blessed him with the very best of wives ; 
 no matter, it would have been all thrown away on him, 
 unless he had his dear Augustina into the bargain. I 
 know nothing more hideous than her cluck face. A 
 few days ago I took a caricature of her in plaster, in the 
 Dantesque style. It didn t come out badly : I will 
 show it you." 
 
 " And Ellen s bust is getting on ? " asked Ber- 
 sieneff. 
 
 " No, brother ; it has come to a stand-still. That 
 is a face to drive one to despair. You see, ; its traits 
 are so fine, regular, and severe, that you fancy they are 
 not difficult to catch. But it is just the contrary : it is 
 a face you can t take. Have you observed her well 
 when she is listening ? Not a single feature but is 
 
On the Eve. ^ 
 
 immovable, only the expression of her glance is perpet 
 ually changing, and with that her whole face changes. 
 What can you expect a sculptor, and a poor one in the 
 bargain, to do with a face like that ? A charming crea 
 ture, a strange being," he added after a short pause. 
 
 " Yes, she is a strange girl, " repeated BersienefT. 
 
 " And she to be the daughter of Nicholas Stachoff ! 
 After that, don t talk of blood and race. And what 
 makes it more absurd is that she really is his daughter, 
 like him, and like her mother. I respect Anne Vasil- 
 ievna with all my heart ; she has been very good to 
 me, but she is for ever whining. Whence did Ellen 
 inherit that soul of hers ? who lighted up its fire ? Well, 
 my dear philosopher, there is another problem for you 
 to solve." 
 
 But the " philosopher " again failed to give any an 
 swer. In general, Bersieneff was not addicted to much 
 chattering , and when he did speak, expressed himself 
 with difficulty and hesitation, without the slightest ges 
 ticulation: but just now a peculiar fit of taciturnity 
 had come over him, a mood of quietness that seemed 
 to spring from weariness or from grief. He had not 
 long quitted Moscow, after a long course of studies 
 which had occupied him many hours every day. His 
 present inactivity, the pure luscious air of the country, 
 the knowledge of having successfully terminated his 
 University career, the whimsical and unceasing chatter 
 of his friend, the sudden mention of one who.\^as dear 
 to him all these varied, but at the same time concur- 
 
8 On the Eve. 
 
 rent, circumstances served to produce in him one com 
 mon feeling that made him at once listless, agitated, 
 and helpless. He was, moreover, naturally of an ex 
 tremely nervous temperament. 
 
 It was cool and quiet beneath the lime tree : the 
 very flies and bees that were fluttering about in its 
 shadows seemed to buzz more quietly than elsewhere : 
 there was no breeze to stir the thin blades of grass 
 with their silver tints : the high stalks reared immov 
 ably as though they were enchanted ; while on the 
 lower branches of the lime tree hung, as if entranced 
 in death, tiny clusters of yellow blossoms. At each 
 breath one inhaled the sweet fragrance of the flowers 
 that grew in rich abundance on every side. In the 
 distance, beyond the river, as far as the horizon 
 stretched, everything was glittering beneath a burn 
 ing sun ; at rare intervals a light breeze would put 
 into motion and multiply the sparkling beams of light ; 
 a radiant vapor hung tremulously over the earth. 
 Not a bird was to be heard ; they were all hushed in 
 the sultriness of the noon ; but the crickets kept chirp 
 ing in harmonious unison ; and it was pleasant, sitting 
 there in the quiet cool, to hear those sharp, lively 
 notes which invited one to sleep and dreamy musing. 
 
 " Have you ever noticed," began Bersieneff again, 
 " what a strange feeling Nature awakens in us ? All 
 in Nature is full, clear, or rather self-sustained, and 
 this we. easily understand, for it is thereby she wins 
 our .love ; and yt at the same time she inspires us, or 
 
On the hve. 9 
 
 at least it is so with me, with a feeling of disquiet; 
 alarm, even anguish. Why is this ? Is it that in her 
 we are driven to recognize our own emptiness, or 
 that we find no satisfaction in that which delights her, 
 having need of something over and beyond what she 
 can afford us ? " 
 
 " Hem ! " replied Shoubine, " I will tell you whence 
 it proceeds. You have described the feeling of a man 
 who does not live, but only observes, and thereby 
 grows callous. Observe what ? Live for yourself and 
 be young ! knock as long as you like at Nature s 
 door, she will never give you an intelligible answer 
 for the best of all reasons, she is dumb. There may 
 be a screech, perhaps a discord, but no melody is to 
 be got out of her chords. A living soul, that is respons 
 ive ; and above all, a woman s soul. And that is why, 
 my good brother, I advise you to fall in love : all 
 these anxious feelings will vanish at once. That is 
 your need, to use your own expression. All your an 
 guish and disquiet all that is merely hunger after 
 your kind. Give the stomach its natural food, and 
 everything is in order. So give up idealising ; be a 
 body, my good friend. And then what is nature ; of 
 what use to us ? Listen yourself : Love what a 
 mighty burning word ! Nature what a cold formal 
 expression ! And so to your health fair Mary" sang 
 Shoubine. " Oh, no," he quickly added, " not Mary : 
 but that is all one. Vous me comprenez" 
 
 Bersieneff slightly raised himself, and rested his 
 
io On the Eve. 
 
 chin on his hands. " What is there to laugh at ? " 
 he muttered, without looking at his companion ; 
 " why that bantering tone ? Yes, you are right : 
 love is a grand word ; but what kind of love do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 Shoubine also raised himself up a little. " What 
 kind of love ? Any you like, only let it be for a pretty 
 face ! I confess, I don t believe in different kinds of 
 love. If you were only in love " 
 
 " With all my soul," interrupted Bersieneff. 
 
 " Well, that is understood : the soul is not an ap 
 ple you can t cut it into halves. If yon were but in 
 love, all would be right with you. Not that I meant 
 to joke. My heart is filled with such tenderness it 
 is so soft. I only wished to explain why Nature acts 
 on us as you say she does. It is because she awakens 
 in us the need of love, but is unable of herself to sat 
 isfy that need. She gently pushes us to other, living 
 arms ; but we do not understand her design, and wait 
 idly for something to come from herself. Ah, An 
 drew, Andrew, that sun above us is beautiful, that 
 sky all, all around us is beautiful, and yet you are 
 sad. * But if at this moment you were resting your 
 hand in the hand of a woman you loved, if that hand 
 and that woman were wholly, solely yours, if \ ou 
 gazed with her eyes, felt not your own but her feel 
 ings, then Nature would no longer awaken in you 
 sadness or disquiet; Nature herself would be glad, 
 and sing for very joy, would echo your hymn, since 
 
On the Eve. n 
 
 you yourself would give to her, who is dumb, a 
 tongue !" ; 
 
 Shoubine in his enthusiasm sprang to his feet, and 
 walked backwards and forwards, as he spoke; but 
 Bersieneff lowered his head, and his face became 
 tinged with a passing blush. 
 
 " I do not quite agree with you," he said ; " Nature 
 does not always inspire us with love ; " he brought 
 out the word hesitatingly : " she also threatens, she 
 reminds us of awful, yes, inscrutable mysteries. Is she 
 not destined to absorb us ? will she not hereafter ab- v 
 sorb us forever? In her is life and death; in her, v 
 death speaks no less distinctly than life." 
 
 And in love, too, is life and death," interrupted 
 Shoubine. 
 
 "And then," continued Bersieneff, "when, for 
 instance, I am standing on an autumn day in some 
 forest or green wood, and hear the romantic sounds 
 of Oberon s enchanted hour " Bersieneff seemed to 
 be ashamed as he brought out this elegant phrase 
 " is that too really " 
 
 " Thirst for love, -thirst for happiness nothing 
 else," Shoubine chimed in. " I too know those sounds, 
 I too know the sensation of longing that comes over 
 the soul as one lies in the shade of some wood, or of 
 an evening in the open field, when the sun has already 
 gone down, and a hot vapour hangs over the stream 
 that flows by. But from forest, from stream, from 
 earth, from sky, from each flying cloud, from every 
 
12 - On the Eve. 
 
 blade of grass, I long to get happiness, and in all 1 
 recognize its presence, and hear its invocation. My 
 god, my joyous god, and gay : I should like to begin a 
 poem in that way ; confess, it would make an excel 
 lent opening line : the only difficulty would be to find 
 a second to match it. Happiness ! happiness ! let 
 that be our aim whilst life is ours, strength remains, 
 and trouble has not yet come upon us. Confound it ! " 
 continued Shoubine, with sudden energy, " we are 
 young, not greybeards nor fools ; we will conquer 
 happiness for ourselves." 
 
 He pushed back his hair, and with a look of con 
 fidence, almost of defiance, gazed upwards towards 
 the sky. Bersieneff looked quietly at his friend. 
 
 " Is there no higher good than happiness ? " he 
 asked in a low tone. 
 
 "As what for example ? " was Shoubine s rejoin 
 der. 
 
 "Well, we are both, as you say, fine young fel 
 lows granted ; and each of us is seeking happi 
 ness for himself. But is this word happiness one of 
 those that can ever inspire us with good, make 
 men united, friends, and fellow-helpers ? Is it not 
 an egotistical word ? does it not tend to separate and 
 divide ? " 
 
 " And do you know any that conciliate and unite ?* 
 
 " Many, and so do you." 
 
 " As what, pray ? " 
 
 " Why, I might mention art and do not forget 
 
On the Eve. 13 
 
 you are an artist ; there is also fatherland, liberty, 
 justice." 
 
 " And love ? " asked Shoubine. 
 
 " Love, too, is a word that serves to knit men to 
 gether ; but not the kind you are thirsting for, not 
 that love which is mere enjoyment, but love that is a 
 sacrifice of self." 
 
 Shoubine frowned at this. " That is all very well 
 for German philosophers," he said ; " for my part, I 
 wish to love for my own enjoyment ; I must always be 
 number one." 
 
 " Number one," repeated Bersieneff. " But it 
 seems to me that to make one s self number two is the 
 real object of life." 
 
 " If all were to follow your advice," muttered Shou 
 bine, with a sour grimace," no one would eat pine 
 apples ; every one would be for giving them to his 
 neighbor." 
 
 " That simply proves pine-apples to be super 
 fluities : but do not fear ; there will always be people 
 ready enough to snatch the very bread from a neigh 
 bor s mouth." 
 
 The two friends were silent for a while. 
 
 " A few days ago I came across InsarofT again," 
 Bersieneff began ; " I asked him to come and see me. 
 I should like to introduce him to you and to the Sta- 
 choffs." 
 
 "Who islnsaroff? Ah, that Servian or Bulgarian 
 of whom you spoke to me once ; that patriot of yours ! 
 
14 On the Eve. 
 
 Is it not he who has imbued you with all these fine 
 philosophical ideas ?" 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " There is something extraordinary about him eh ?" 
 
 ; Yes." 
 
 " He is learned ? a genius ? " 
 
 " Learned ? yes. A genius ? I don t know, I 
 think not." 
 
 " No ? What, then, is there remarkable in him ?" 
 
 " You will see : but it is time to be going, I think. 
 Anne Vasilievna will be waiting for us. What o clock 
 is it." 
 
 " Three. Let us be off. How sultry it is ! This 
 talk of ours has put my blood into a heat. And there 
 was a moment, when you also I am not an artist for 
 nothing, I notice everything. Now, confess, you are 
 not insensible to a woman s charms ? " 
 
 Shoubine tried to catch a glimpse of his friend s 
 face ; but Bersieneff turned aside as he came from 
 under the lime tree. Shoubine followed with a care 
 lessly graceful saunter. There was no ease in Ber- 
 sieneffs movements : he carried his shoulders far too 
 high, and stretched out his neck in a most ungainly 
 fashion. But in spite of this, he appeared more comine 
 il faut than Shoubine, we had said, more gentle 
 manly, but this word has been so terribly hackneyed 
 of late by us Russians. 
 
On the Eve. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "BEWITCHING ZOE." 
 
 THE young men proceeded along the bank of the 
 river Moscow. A fresh breeze blew from the 
 river, and there was a pleasant sound in the soft rip 
 ple of its stream. 
 
 " I should like to have a bath," said Shoubine, 
 "but am afraid of being late. Just look at the 
 stream ; does it not seem as if it were beckoning us 
 to plunge in ? The ancient Greeks would have made 
 it the haunt of a nymph. But we are no Greeks, O 
 nymph, we are only thick-skinned Scythians." 
 
 " We, too, have our water-naiads," interrupted 
 Bersieneff. 
 
 "Away with you and your naiads ! of what use to 
 me, a sculptor, are these sorry offsprings of an ill- 
 cultured northern fancy, these hideous figures born in 
 the suffocating heat of an isbah* worthy types of our 
 dark winter nights ? Give me only light, space. Ah ! 
 when shall I be able to go to Italy ? When " 
 
 " You wish to say when you were in Little Russia. 
 
 * Isbah : a peasant s hut. 
 
1 6 On the Eve. 
 
 " It is a shame, Andrew, to reproach me with my 
 thoughtless stupidity, for which, without your reproofs, 
 I am heartily sorry. Yes, I acted like a fool : that 
 good soul, Anne Vasilievna, gave me my passage- 
 money to Italy, and I must needs set off to Cochlam, 
 eat dumplings there, and " 
 
 " Spare us the rest of your confessions, I pray," 
 interrupted Bersieneff. 
 
 " And yet, believe me, the money was not alto 
 gether ill-spent. I saw there such types, particularly 
 among the women. Of course, I know that out of 
 Italy there is no salvation." 
 
 " You will go to Italy," continued Bersieneff, " and 
 there you will do nothing. You will flutter a little, 
 try your wings ; but as to flying, we know you too 
 well to expect that." 
 
 " Stavasseur, however, succeeded in flying; nor 
 was he the only one. And if I don t fly, why that 
 only proves me to be a sea-penguin without wings. 
 Here I am stifled ; I long for Italy," continued Shou- 
 bine ; " there is sun, there is beauty." 
 
 At this moment a young girl, in a broad-brimmed 
 straw hat, was to be seen coming along the path on 
 which the two friends were walking. 
 
 " But what do I see ? Even here beauty comes to 
 meet us ! Bewitching Zoe approaches to welcome 
 the humble artist ! " cried Shoubine, as he waved his 
 hat with a theatrical air. 
 
 The young girl, whose appearance had called 
 
On the Eve. 17 
 
 forth this tirade, stood still, held up her fore-finger 
 threateningly, and beckoning to the young men, said, 
 in a shrill, almost squeaky, voice, " Why don t you 
 come to dinner ? The cloth is laid." 
 
 " What do I hear ? " exclaimed Shoubine, clasping 
 his hands : " is it possible that in the heat like this 
 you have condescended to seek us out ? Is this the 
 import of your gracious speech ? Answer or rather, 
 say not a word, lest shame at our unworthiness slay 
 me instantly." 
 
 " Leave off your fooling, Paul," replied the girl, 
 in a vexed tone ; " why is it that you can never 
 speak to me sensibly ? I am very angry ? " she con 
 tinued with an affected coquetry, and bit her lips. 
 
 " You cannot be angry with me. heavenly Zoe : 
 you cannot wish to thrust me down the murky abyss 
 of dull despair. To speak seriously is not in my 
 power ; there is nothing serious about me." 
 
 The girl shrugged her shoulders, and turned to 
 Bersieneff. " He is always so : he treats me as if I 
 were a child, whilst I am already in my nineteenth 
 year. I am now a grown-up woman." 
 
 " Oh, heavens ! " groaned Shoubine, and cast his 
 eyes to the ground, while Bersieneff smiled silently. 
 
 The girl stamped her foot with impatience. 
 " Paul, I really am angry ! " and then she went on, 
 " Ellen started with me, but she stopped in the gar 
 den : she found it too hot ; but I don t care for the 
 heat. Let us be going." 
 
1 8 On the Eve. 
 
 She went forward along the path, and there was 
 something graceful in her movement as she pushed 
 back the long soft locks from her face with her pretty 
 little hand, on which she wore a black mitten. 
 
 The two friends followed, Shoubine now press 
 ing his hands to his heart, now raising them above his 
 head, and after a few minutes walk stopped before 
 one of the many cottages that are to be found in the. 
 neighborhood of KoontsofT. It was a small wooden 
 house, with a story built on the roof, and painted 
 rose-color, standing in the midst of a garden, and 
 peeping out as it were with a naive look from among 
 the green trees. Zoe was the first to arrive at the 
 wicket, opened it, and running into the garden, cried 
 out, " I have brought the rovers home." A young 
 girl with a pale but expressive countenance rose up 
 from a bench that was placed by the side of the path, 
 and on the steps leading up to the house there ap 
 peared a lady in a lilac silk dress and with a cambric 
 handkerchief thrown over her head to protect her 
 from the heat, who received the party with a languid 
 smile. 
 
On the Eve. 19 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 NICHOLAS ARTEMVITCH STACHOFF. 
 
 ANNE VASILIEVNA STACHOFF, whose maid 
 en name was Shoubine, when in her seventeenth 
 year, was left an orphan, and heiress to a considera 
 ble estate. She had two relatives, the one on her 
 father s side as poor as the other on her mother s side 
 was rich : Senator Volgine and Prince Tchikurasoff. 
 The Prince was appointed her guardian, placed her 
 in one of the best schools at Moscow, and when she 
 had finished her education, received her into his own 
 house. She lived in grand style, and during the 
 winter gave numerous balls. Anne Vasilievna s fu 
 ture husband, Nicholas Artemvitch Stachoff, won her 
 heart at one of these balls, where she was dressed 
 " in a delicious rose-colored robe with a sweet coiffure 
 of small roses." This coiffure was ever afterwards 
 carefully preserved. Nicholas Artemvitch Stachoff. 
 the son of a retired captain who upon being wound 
 ed when only nineteen, had obtained a tolerably lu 
 crative situation at St. Petersburg, was admitted, in 
 
20 On the Eve. 
 
 his sixteenth year, into the cadet school, and subse 
 quently entered the Guards. He was a handsome 
 : wuil-made youth, and considered to be one of the 
 best partners that could be secured at the balls to 
 which his friends, who were all of the middle class, 
 gladly invited him ; his position not being such as to 
 secure him admittance to the highest society. From 
 his youth he had two ambitions to become aide-de 
 camp to the Emperor, and to marry well. The first 
 of these dreams he soon abandoned, but its surrend 
 er only made him hold the more obstinately to the 
 second. It was with this view that he spent each 
 winter in Moscow. He spoke French with tolerable 
 fluency, and not being addicted to a wild life, passed 
 for a philosopher. Though only an ensign, he was 
 wont to discuss with no little gravity and assurance 
 such deep questions as, whether a man in the course 
 of his life could go round the whole world, or obtain 
 a knowledge of what transpires in the depths of the 
 ocean, and invariably decided these questions in 
 the negative. 
 
 Nicholas Artemvitch was in his twenty-sixth year 
 when he " made a good catch," married Anne Vasi- 
 lievena, and left the service to undertake the man 
 agement of her estate. He soon grew tired of 
 country life, and removed to Moscow, where he lived 
 in a house that belonged to his wife. In his youth 
 he had never cared for cards, but he now began to 
 
 
On the Eve. 
 
 have a liking for loto, or, if that 
 eralasch* Home-life became dull 
 struck up an intimacy with a widow of German ex- 
 traction, and passed nearly all his time with her. 
 The summer of 1853, when our story opens, he did 
 not spend at Koontsoff, under the pretext of profiting 
 by the mineral waters at Moscow, but in reality be 
 cause he could not tear himself away from the fair 
 widow. Not that his conversation with her was, as a 
 rule, of a loving kind : with her too he would general 
 ly debate learned questions, such as the possibility 
 of foretelling the weather. Some of his friends had 
 given him the name of le frondeur, which pleased 
 him immensely. " Yes," he muttered to himself with 
 a complacent smirk and a shrug of the shoulders, " I 
 am not easily satisfied; you can t cheat me." His 
 only claim to the title consisted in this, that when for 
 example, he heard the word " nerves," he would 
 grandly exclaim, " And what are nerves ?" or upon 
 being reminded of the discoveries of astronomy, 
 would ask, " And do you believe in astronomy ?" 
 But if he wished to settle an antagonist completely, 
 he invariably answered him with " Yes, all that is 
 mere declamation !" It must be confessed that there 
 were, and still are, many who regarded a sentence 
 of this kind as irrefutable, but the feeling was not 
 
 * A game at cards much affected in Russia ; it is very simi 
 lar to our own English whist, only played without trumps. 
 
22 On the Eve. 
 
 universal ; and Nicholas Artemvitch little suspected 
 that, in her letters to her cousin Theodoline, Augusti- 
 na constantly styled him, " My little simpleton." 
 
 His wife was a little thin woman, with delicate 
 features, much given to caprices and to melancholy. 
 Whilst at school, she devoted herself to music and 
 reading novels, then gave up both ; next took to dress, 
 but soon abandoned that whim ; afterwards occupied 
 herself with the education of her daughter, but grow 
 ing tired of that, handed her over to the care of a 
 governess ; and later did nothing but whine and 
 mope. The birth of Ellen so shattered her constitu 
 tion, that all hopes of being a mother again were put 
 an end to : a circumstance to which Nicholas Artem 
 vitch would often allude in justification of his inti 
 macy with Augustina. Her husband s infidelity was 
 a source of bitter grief to the poor wife, and she was 
 particularly hurt when on one occasion he took a pair 
 of grey horses out of her own stable and made a 
 present of them to the German widow. In his pres 
 ence she never uttered a word of reproach, but in 
 secret would complain of his faithlessness to every 
 one in the house, not even excepting her daughter. 
 She hated visiting, and her chief pleasure was to re 
 ceive friends, with whom she could have long gossips, 
 solitude being insupportable to her. Hers was a lov 
 ing and tender heart, but tli2 roughness cf life soon 
 broke what little courage she ever possessed. 
 
 Paul Jakovlevitch Shoubine was her second cousin. 
 
On the Eve. 23 
 
 His father served in Moscow. His brothers entered 
 the Military school ; but he was the youngest, of a 
 delicate constitution and his mother s darling, and 
 consequently remained at home. Later his parents 
 wished to send him to the university, but his health 
 was so weak that he was scarcely able to finish the 
 gymnasium-course. From his youth he had exhibited 
 a talent for sculpture ; and Senator Volgine, on see 
 ing one of his statuettes at his aunt s he was then 
 only sixteen declared it to be his intention to foster 
 the young genius. The sudden death of Paul s father 
 was near changing the youth s future career. The 
 senator, in his character of patron of genius, made 
 him a present of a plaster bust of Homer, and then 
 withdrew his protection ; but Anne Vasilievna gave 
 him some money, and, though it "went somewhat 
 against the grain, he was persuaded to enter the uni 
 versity as a student in the faculty of medicine. Paul 
 did not feel the slightest inclination to the study of 
 medicine, or, in fact, to any of the sciences ; but cir 
 cumstances forbade his entering any other class, and 
 he had moreover, a vague hope of learning anatomy 
 in this way; but even this he did not succeed in ac 
 complishing, was plucked at his examination, and in 
 disgust left the university with the resolution to de 
 vote himself exclusively to his " calling." He worked 
 heartily at his profession, but too much by fits ; hung 
 about the environs of Moscow ; modelled and drew 
 the portraits of many of the peasant girls ; made sev- 
 
24 On the Eve. 
 
 eral friends, chiefly among the moneyless classes, 
 such as Italian models and Russian artists; would 
 not hear of the Academy, and openly laughed at its 
 professors. He possessed a certain amount of talent, 
 and soon became known at Moscow. His mother, a 
 Parisienne by birth, of good family, an excellent and 
 a clever woman, fussed and busied herself about his 
 future career, being immensely proud of him ; but 
 she died while still young,of consumption, and on her 
 death-bed prayed Anne Vasilievna to take him under 
 her care. He was then in his twenty-second year. 
 Anne fulfilled her friend s last prayer, and he occu 
 pied a small room in a wing of the house. 
 
On the hve. 25 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN ARTIST S ASPIRATIONS. 
 
 T ET us go to dinner," said the mistress of the 
 J * house, in a fretful tone. " You sit next to me, 
 Zoe," she continued when they had entered the dining- 
 room : "and you, Ellen, attend to our guests; and as 
 to you, Paul, no nonsense or teasing of Zoe, for my 
 head aches terribly to-day." 
 
 Shoubine once more turned his eyes upwards, and 
 Zoe answered his grimace with a faint smile. This 
 Zoe, or to give her name in full, Zoe Nikitischna 
 Miiller, was a pretty, slight-made Russian-German 
 girl, with thin red lips, of a bland complexion, and 
 slightly freckled. She sang a few Russian songs very 
 creditably, played two or three sentimental pieces on 
 the piano with tolerable accuracy, dressed with taste, 
 though rather too demurely and in a childish fashion. 
 Anne Vasilievna had engaged her as companion to 
 her daughter, and she almost lived in the house. 
 Ellen made no objection to this arrangement, though 
 it must be confessed she did not listen with much at 
 tention to the edifying remarks which Zoe considered 
 it her duty to make whenever they were alone. 
 
26 On the Eve. 
 
 Dinner lasted a rather long time. Bersieneff 
 .chatted with Ellen about university life, his plans and 
 hopes for the future : Shoubine, who ate with a great 
 relish all that was put before him, listened in silence, 
 now and then casting at Zoe a comical glance, to 
 which her only answer was her habitual phlegmatic 
 smile. After dinner, Ellen, accompanied by Bersie 
 neff and Shoubine, went into the garden : Zoe watched 
 them as they left the room, and then, with a slight 
 shrug of the shoulders, sat down to the piano. " Why 
 do you not go out and have a stroll too ? " asked Anne 
 Vasilievna; but she did not wait for a reply, and 
 continued, " Play some melancholy air." 
 
 " La Derniere Pensee de Weber ? " asked Zoe. 
 
 "Ah, yes, Weber !" murmured Anne Vasilievna, 
 as she sank back in her chair, and languidly squeezed 
 out a tear or two. 
 
 In the meantime Ellen led the two friends to an 
 arbor of acacias, with a wooden table in the centre, 
 and benches placed all around. Shoubine fidgeted 
 about for a while, and then whispering to them to 
 wait, turned back, and ran to his room, but soon re 
 appeared with a lump of clay, and at once began 
 modelling Zoe s face, turning his head about, mutter 
 ing to himself, and laughing during the operation. 
 
 " At your old tricks again," said Ellen, glancing 
 over his shoulder at his work ; and then turning to 
 Bersieneff, continued the conversation they had begun 
 at the dinner-table. 
 
Un the J^ve. 27 
 
 " Old tricks," repeated Shoubine. " The subject 
 is painful and inexhaustible. To-day particularly 
 she put me quite out of patience." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Ellen. " Recollect, 
 you are not speaking of a horrid disagreeable old 
 woman. A pretty young girl." 
 
 "Certainly," interrupted Shoubine. "She is 
 pretty, very pretty. I am sure every man who looks 
 at her thinks, Ah ! there is a splendid girl to dance 
 a polka with ; and I am equally sure she knows it, 
 and is proud of it too. What else are those prudish 
 grimaces for, that affected modesty ? But you know 
 as well as I do what I mean," he muttered between 
 his teeth ; " and besides, you are otherwise occupied 
 now." 
 
 "As he spoke, he threw the model to the ground, 
 and began eagerly and with an air of vexation to 
 mould and crumble the clay between his fingers. 
 
 " And so you would like to be a philosopher ? " 
 Ellen said to Bersieneff. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, rubbing his red hands between 
 his knees. " That is my fondest dream. Of course, 
 I know what is required of me, before I can be wor 
 thy of such a noble I mean, I am ill-prepared ; 
 
 but I hope to go abroad, stay three or four years, as 
 long as is necessary, and then 
 
 He stopped short, cast his eyes down to the 
 ground, but quickly raising them again, smiled awk 
 wardly as he began pushing back his hair. When- 
 
28 On the Eve. 
 
 ever Bersieneff talked with a woman, he hesitated 
 even more than usual in his speech, and his lisp be 
 came more strongly marked. 
 
 " You wish to be professor of history ? " asked 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Yes, or philosophy ; " and then he added in a 
 lower tone, " if that were only possible." 
 
 " He is already a tremendous swell in philosophy," 
 remarked Shoubine, making a deep cut in the clay 
 with his nail ; " what on earth does he want to go 
 abroad for ? " 
 
 "And you will be quite content with your po 
 sition ? " asked Ellen, touching him on the arm, and 
 looking straight into his face. 
 
 " Thoroughly, Ellen Nicholaevna,* thoroughly. 
 What other profession could be preferable ? Think 
 only, to follow in the steps ot my father. The mere 
 thought of embracing such a profession fills me with 
 joy but with trepidation too, a trepidation that that 
 arises from a consciousness of my feebleness and 
 my ignorance. My dear father, in giving me his last 
 blessing, bade me adopt that career. I shall never 
 forget his dying words." 
 
 " Your father died this winter ? " 
 
 " Yes, Ellen Nicholaevna, last February." 
 
 " I have heard," she continued, " that he left be- 
 
 * The Russians use the patronymic as we use the prefixes 
 MT," " Miss," etc. 
 
On the Eve. 29 
 
 hind him a remarkable work in manuscript ; is it 
 true ? " 
 
 " It is. He was an extraordinary man. You 
 would have liked him, had you known him." 
 
 " That I am sure of. But what is the subject of 
 his work ? " 
 
 " It would be difficult, Ellen Nicholaevna, to ex 
 plain its subject to you in a few words. My father 
 was a very learned man, a Schellingist, and his style 
 is not always the easiest to understand." 
 
 " Andrew Petrovitch, excuse my ignorant ques 
 tion," interrupted Ellen, " but what is a Schellingist ? " 
 
 Bersieneff could not help smiling. "A Schel 
 lingist ? That means a follower of Schelling, a Ger 
 man philosopher; but in what consists the peculiar 
 doctrine " 
 
 " For mercy s sake, Andrew Petrovitch," cried 
 Shoubine, " You are never going to give Ellen Nicho 
 laevna a lesson on Schelling ; do be a little consider 
 ate, if you please." 
 
 " Don t fear, I did not mean to give a lesson," mut 
 tered Bersieneff, and blushed ; " I only wished " 
 
 " And why not a lesson ? " exclaimed Ellen. " I 
 am sure we are both of us very ignorant." 
 
 Shoubine looked at her, and burst out laughing. 
 
 " What are you laughing at ? " she asked in a cold 
 and almost severe tone. 
 
 Shoubine was silenced ; but after a few moments 
 he said, " Well, don t be angry : I was wrong to laugh, 
 
30 On the Eve. 
 
 But you will allow it was a queer fancy on a hot day 
 like this to give an open-air lecture on philosophy. 
 Far better talk of nightingales, roses, or women s 
 eyes." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, and French novels or the newest 
 fashion," said Ellen. 
 
 " Why not, if it is only pretty ? " asked Shou- 
 bine. 
 
 " As you like. But suppose we don t care to talk 
 about dress ? You claim for yourself freedom in art, 
 why not allow it to others ? And, tell me, if these are 
 your tastes, how is it you do not get on with Zoe ? 
 Dress, roses, fashion, and so on, are exactly what she 
 likes to talk about." 
 
 Shoubine at once flared up, sprang from his seat, 
 and cried out in an angry tone, " So ; I understand 
 your hints you want to send me off to her ; in other 
 words, I am one too many here." 
 
 " I never thought of sending you away." 
 
 " You mean," continued Shoubine, passionately, 
 " that I am not fit for any other company ; that I am 
 her equal, as empty, silly, and shallow as that mealy- 
 mouthed German girl ; that is what you mean ? " 
 
 Ellen was evidently displeased. " You did not 
 always speak of her in this way, Paul." 
 
 " Now for reproaches, reproaches, " continued 
 Shoubine. " Oh, I don t deny that there was a mo 
 ment, just one moment, when that fair-faced cunning 
 coquette But suppose I were inclined to pay you 
 
On the Eve. 31 
 
 back in your own coin, and reproach you with But 
 no, I won t battle." 
 
 And angrily striking the clay which he had just 
 moulded into the shape of a head, he rushed out of 
 the arbor, and shut himself up in his own room. 
 
 " What a child ! " muttered Ellen, as she looked 
 after him. 
 
 "An artist!" said Bersieneff, with a quiet smile 
 " They are all alike. We must pardon their out 
 breaks : it is one of their rights to be capricious." 
 
 "Perhaps," answered Ellen; "but it is a right 
 Paul has no claim to ; what has he done up to, the 
 present moment ? But give me your arm, and let us go 
 along that alley. He only hindered us ; now we can 
 talk quietly of your father s book." 
 
 Bersieneff gave his arm to Ellen, and they strolled 
 about the garden ; but the conversation, which had 
 been so unseasonably interrupted, was not renewed. 
 Bersieneff again began to explain his ideas of a pro 
 fessor s duties and calling, and spoke of his own 
 future career. As he walked with Ellen, he would at 
 one moment awkwardly take her arm, and then as 
 awkwardly let it go again, not seldom jostling clumsily 
 against her; but not once during the stroll did he 
 venture to look in her face. He spoke slowly, and 
 if not with perfect freedom, he at least expressed 
 himself clearly and openly; whilst in his eyes, which 
 were now fixed on the trunk jof a tree, now on the 
 gravel path, and now on the grass, as well as in the 
 
32 i On the Eve. 
 
 even tone of his voice, there was to be discerned that 
 feeling of quiet contentment which a man only ex 
 periences when speaking to one who is dear to him. 
 Ellen listened with eager interest, and, half-turning 
 towards him, did not take her eyes from his slightly 
 flushed face, but gazed earnestly into those soft, gen 
 tle eyes of his, which were forever seeking to avoid 
 her glance. Her soul was opened, and a feeling of 
 love, truth, and goodness flowed into her heart, and 
 took deep root there. 
 
On the Eve. 33 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 
 
 SHOUBINE did not leave his room till the evening 
 was far advanced. It was already twilight, the 
 full moon stood high in the heavens, the milky way 
 was bright and clear, and innumerable stars were 
 glittering in the sky, when Bersieneff, having taken 
 leave of Anne Vasilievna, Ellen and Zoe, came to 
 the door of his room. He found it locked, and be 
 gan knocking. 
 
 " Who is there ? " cried Shoubine from within. 
 
 " I," answered Bersieneff. 
 
 " What do you want ? " 
 
 " Let me in : enough of your tempers ! are you not 
 ashamed ? " 
 
 " I am in no temper : let me get to sleep again, 
 and dream of Zoe." 
 
 "Leave off your nonsense, and open the door. 
 You are not a child. I have something to tell you." 
 
 " What, are you and Ellen already tired of cooing." 
 
 " Leave off, I say, and let me in ! " 
 
 " Shoubine s only answer to this was an unmis 
 takable snore. Bersieneff shrugged his shoulders, 
 3 
 
34 On the Eve. 
 
 and set off homewards. The night was warm and 
 unusually quiet, so quiet that the least noise was dis 
 tinctly audible ; and Bersieneff, as he slowly made 
 his way along the dark road, would frequently stop 
 and listen. The light motion of the leaves in the 
 topmost branches of the trees sounded like the 
 rustling of a woman s dress, and awoke in him a 
 feeling that was at once tender and soothing the 
 feeling of incipient love. A flush of joy spread over 
 his face, his eyes filled with tears, and an overpowering 
 longing possessed him to flee away unseen by any one, 
 to hide himself, to be alone. A sudden gust of wind 
 blew from an opening in the trees he shuddered, 
 and with a frightened look glanced behind him ; a 
 sluggish beetle fell with a light noise from a branch 
 to the ground he gave a cry of surprise, and again 
 stood still. But he began thinking of Ellen, and all 
 these momentary fears left him : there remained only 
 the vivid recollection of their long walk. in the cool of 
 the evening, and his whole soul was filled with the 
 young girl s image. He went onward, his head bent 
 down, repeating to himself her words, her questions. 
 The noise of hurried steps was heard behind him. 
 He listened : some one was running after, and quickly 
 gaining upon, him ; he could hear the runner s broken 
 breathing, and suddenly, from the dark shadow that 
 was cast by a lofty tree, came forth Shoubine, with 
 out a hat, his hair streaming in the wind, all pale and 
 wan in the ghastly light of the moon. 
 
On the Eve. 35 
 
 "I am glad you came by this path," he said with 
 difficulty. " I could not have slept a wink the whole 
 night, if I had not caught up with you. Give me 
 your hand. -You are going home, it seems." 
 
 "I am." 
 
 " I will go with you." 
 
 " How can you without a hat ? " 
 
 " That doesn t matter. I will tie my handkerchief 
 over my head ; there, now I am quite warm." 
 
 They went on for a short distance without ex 
 changing a word. 
 
 " Didn^ I make a fool of myself this evening ? " 
 Shoubine suddenly asked. 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth, you did. I could not 
 make out what was the matter with you. To be angry, 
 and such nonsense." 
 
 "Ah," cried Shoubine, " that is your way of put 
 ting things ; but to me it was no nonsense. You 
 see," he went on, " I ought to explain to you that I 
 that I think what you will of me I well, there ! 
 I love Ellen ! " 
 
 "You love Ellen!" repeated Bersieneff, as he 
 came to, full stand still. 
 
 " Yes," continued Shoubine, with affected in 
 difference. " You are surprised ? But I will tell you 
 more. Till this evening I had hoped that in time 
 she might return my love. To-day, however, has 
 taught me how foolish it is to hope any longer. She 
 loves another." 
 
36 On the Eve. 
 
 "Another? whom?" 
 
 " Whom ? why you ! " cried Shoubine, as he hit 
 Bersieneff on the shoulder. 
 
 " Me ? " 
 
 " You !" repeated Shoubine. 
 
 Bersieneff fell back a step or two, and remained 
 motionless. Shoubine looked at him with a strange 
 eager look. 
 
 "And you are astonished at my news ? Modest 
 youth! Yes she loves you of that you may be 
 quite sure." 
 
 " What nonsense are you talking ? " at last said 
 Bersieneff, in a tone of vexation. 
 
 " It is no nonsense. But why are we standing 
 still ? Let us go on : it is easier to talk walking. I 
 have known her for years, known her well. I can t 
 be mistaken. You have touched her heart. There 
 was a time when I did not altogether displease her \ 
 but I am too thoughtless, whilst you are a serious fel 
 low ; you have everything in your favor, morally and 
 physically stop, I have not done yet you are a con 
 scientious but moderate enthusiast, a true representa 
 tive of those teachers of science in which no, not in 
 which, but in whom the middle class of Russian 
 society take so just a pride. And then, a few days 
 ago, she caught me kissing Zoe s hand ! " 
 
 "Zoe s?" 
 
 " Ye-^, Zoe s. What can you expect when a girl 
 has such pretty shoulders ? " 
 
On the Eve. 37 
 
 " Shoulders ? " 
 
 " Why yes, hand, shoulders, isn t it all the same ? 
 Ellen found me expressing my love in a way that is 
 only natural after dinner, though just before dinner I 
 had been scolding Zoe in her very presence. It is a 
 pity Ellen can t understand these little inconstancies, 
 which mean nothing. Then you appeared upon the 
 scene you are an idealist, you believe by the way, 
 what is it you believe ? you blush, get nervous, talk 
 about Schiller, Schelling, or somebody she likes 
 talking about remarkable people and of course you 
 come off victor ; whilst I, poor devil, try to be funny, 
 and and and in the meanwhile " 
 
 Shoubine burst into tears, went aside, and throw 
 ing himself down on the ground, hid his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 Bersieneff came softly up to him. 
 
 " Paul," he began, " what is all this ? What ails 
 you to-day ? or what idle fancy is this you have got 
 into your head ? And these tears, are you really 
 only funning ? " 
 
 Shoubine shook his head. Tears were still glis 
 tening on his cheeks in the rays of the moon, as he 
 looked up, but there was a smile on his face. 
 
 " Andrew Petrovitch, do not think harshly of me ; 
 this of course is a mere fit of hysterics. But, by 
 God, I love Ellen, and Ellen loves you ! But I for 
 get, I promised to see you home, and I will keep my 
 word." 
 
38 On the Eve. 
 
 / 
 
 " What a lovely night ! quiet, fresh, and full of 
 shadows ! How delightful for those who love and 
 are loved ! How pleasant to lie awake and think of 
 her / Shall you sleep to-night, Andrew Petrovitch ? " 
 
 Bersieneff did not answer, but began walking 
 quickly. 
 
 " Where are you hurrying to ? " continued Shou- 
 bine. " Believe me, there will never be such another 
 glorious night as this in all your life ; and then, only 
 Schelling awaits you at home. It is true he did you 
 a good service to-day : but still there is no occasion 
 for hurrying. Sing, sing as loud as you can, or if 
 you can t sing, take off your hat, throw back your 
 head, and smile up at the stars ! They are all look 
 ing down upon you, upon you alone ; that is their 
 only business, to smile upon lovers, and that is why 
 they are so beautiful. So, you are in love, Andrew 
 Petrovitch ? You don t answer why don t you an 
 swer ? Oh, if you feel yourself to be happy, keep 
 silent, keep silent. I merely chatter on because I 
 am a poor wretch whom nobody loves. I am a poor 
 painter, a dauber, an artist ; but what glorious strains 
 of melody could I pour forth to the silent night be 
 neath those shining stars, did I but know that there 
 was one in the wide world who loved me. Bersieneff, 
 tell me, are you happy ? " 
 
 Bersieneff maintained his former silence, but pro 
 ceeded along the level road with quickened steps. A 
 
On the Eve. v\ ^ 39 
 
 little farther on, from amidst the tre e 
 lights and fires of the village where he lived. It 
 comprised in all but ten small cottages. At its en 
 trance, on the right hand of the road, sheltered by 
 two wide-spreading beeches, stood a retail shop ; the 
 windows were all closed, but through the open door a 
 broad streak of light gleamed forth on the down 
 trodden grass, glancing upward to the trees, and 
 making white and ghostly the under surface of their 
 thickly clustered leaves. A young girl, apparently a 
 chambermaid, was standing in the shop, and chatting 
 with the shopkeeper : from under the kerchief which 
 she had thrown over her head, and was holding with 
 her bare hand beneath her chin, but little could be 
 seen of her roundish face or well formed neck. As 
 they passed, Shoubine chanced to look into the shop, 
 stood still, and cried out, " Annette." The girl 
 quickly turned round ; there was something pleasing 
 in her fresh face, though it was perhaps somewhat too 
 large to be beautiful, in her sparkling brown eyes, 
 and in her black eyebrows. " Annette ! " cried 
 Shoubine a second time. The girl looked at him, 
 shrank back as if in fear, blushed a deep crimson, 
 and, without waiting to take up her .purchases, rushed 
 down the steps, pushed roughly by the two friends, 
 and, with one hurried glance backward, flew across 
 the road. The shopkeeper, who, like most of his 
 class in the provinces, was fat and phlegmatic, gave a 
 low whistle, and then yawned ; but Shoubine turned 
 
40 On the Eve. 
 
 to Bersieneff, and said, " This this, you see there 
 
 is a family here I know they have do not fancy " 
 
 and, without finishing his incoherent explanation, ran 
 after the girl. 
 
 " At any rate, wipe your tears away first," Bersie 
 neff cried laughingly after him. But when he had 
 reached his home, there was no longer an expression 
 of gayety on his countenance, and he was no longer 
 smiling. Not for a moment did he credit what Shou- 
 bine had told him ; but for all that, his words had 
 made a deep impression. " Paul has only been fool 
 ing me," he thought ; " but at some time or other she 
 will love, whom will it be ? " 
 
 In his room there stood a small and rather old 
 piano, but with a tone soft and pleasing, though by 
 no means pure. Bersieneff sat down to it, and care 
 lessly struck a few notes. Like all well-born Russi 
 ans, he had in his youth learned music, and, also like 
 all well-born Russians, he played very badly. He 
 was, however, passionately fond of music, though, to 
 speak correctly, it was not the art, or the form in 
 which the art expressed itself, that he loved, but its 
 melody. Sonatas, symphonies, and even operas, 
 made him weary : but he loved music for the feelings, 
 restless yet soothing, indefinable, yet wide-embrac 
 ing, which the harmony or sweet discord of sounds 
 never fails to produce in the soul. More than an 
 hour passed, and he still remained at the piano, 
 striking over and over again the same notes, or clum- 
 
On the Eve. 41 
 
 sily trying to make out new chorcis, and letting the 
 sounds die away gradually and faintly. His heart 
 was touched, and his eyes not seldom overflowed 
 with tears. He was neither ashamed of them, nor 
 did he seek to check them, and there was none to 
 ridicule his sensibility. " Paul was right," he mur 
 mured to himself, "in my whole life there will be no 
 such second night as this." At last he got up, lighted 
 a candle, put on his dressing-gown, took down from 
 his bookcase the second volume of Raumer s History 
 of ffothensfauffen, and with a heavy sigh began read 
 ing that learned work. 
 
42 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ) 
 ELLEN S CHARACTERISTIC SINGULARITY. 
 
 IN the meantime Ellen had retired to her room, 
 and leaning her head on her hand sat down by 
 the open window. It was^a habit with her to sit thus 
 by the window every evening for a quarter of an hour 
 or so. It was her time of self-communion, when she 
 was wont to take account of the day that had just 
 passed. She had already reached her twentieth year. 
 She was tall in stature, of a pale-olive complexion, 
 and slightly freckled, with a regularly formed nose 
 and forehead, a mouth somewhat drawn in, and a 
 pointed chin. Her light-brown hair fell in rich curls 
 over her thin neck. In her whole figure, in the ex 
 pression of her face, which was at once observant 
 and timid, in her keen but variable glance, in her 
 seemingly forced smile, in the low hesitating tone of 
 her voice, there was a nervousness, an abruptness, a 
 precipitancy which could not please everybody, and 
 which must have been repellant to many. Her 
 hands were narrow and rosy, her fingers long and 
 tapering, her feet small ; her walk was hurried, al 
 most impetuous, and as she moved she bent forward. 
 She was oddly changeable in her affections : at one 
 
On the Eve. 43 
 
 time she idolized her father, then was passionately 
 attached to her mother, and would afterwards treat 
 both, but particularly her fafher, with cold indiffer 
 ence. Of late she had behaved to her mother as 
 one would to an invalid grandmother. Her father, 
 who had formerly taken pride in her strange ways 
 whilst she was a child, began to be afraid of her 
 now that she was grown up, and spoke of her as a 
 capricious enthusiast. Any exhibition of weakness 
 irritated her, stupidity made her angry, a lie she 
 could never be brought to pardon, nothing could 
 move her when once she had formed a resolution, 
 and in her mode of proffering a request there was an 
 implied reproach. Did a man once forfeit her good 
 opinion and she was extremely ready in pronounc 
 ing her judgment of others he ceased to exist so 
 far as she was concerned. She was easily moved, 
 and, young as she was, her life had not been of the 
 most tranquil kind. 
 
 The governess whom Anne Vasilievna had en 
 gaged to finish her daughter s education an educa 
 tion with which, by the way, that melancholy lady 
 had never concerned herself was a Russian, of a 
 very sentimental, worthy, but fickle character, the 
 daughter of a ruined gambler. She was much given 
 to falling in love, and when Ellen had just reached 
 her tenth year, she married an officer who soon after 
 wards abandoned her. She was very fond of litera 
 ture, and even wrote verses herself. She thus im- 
 
44 On the Ere. 
 
 bued Ellen with a taste for reading; but mere read 
 ing did not satisfy her pupil, who longed to put her 
 knowledge into practice, and was ever eager for op 
 portunities of active goodness. The sight of a poor 
 or famished person was a misery and a worrying anx 
 iety to her, disturbed her rest, nor was she content 
 till she had relieved his necessities and enlisted the 
 sympathy of all around her in his favor. She ad 
 ministered her alms with the most scrupulous care, 
 and with an instinctive seriousness that gave a so 
 lemnity to her most trivial act of charity. Any ill- 
 used animal, stray dogs, kittens condemned to an 
 early death, swallows fallen from their nest, even 
 worms and insects, found a friend and protector in 
 Ellen, who, so far from regarding them with any feel 
 ing of aversion, would nourish and feed them. Her 
 mother let her have her way : but her father was 
 perpetually grumbling at what he called his daugh 
 ter s stupid sentimentality, and declared that what 
 with her cats and her dogs, there was no moving 
 about in the house. " Ah, Nell," he would cry out, 
 "come here directly; there s a spider just going to 
 pounce on a fly." Ellen, all trembling with emotion, 
 would rush to the spot, rescue the fly, and carefully 
 wipe its wings and legs. " And now," the father 
 would add jeeringly, " let the spider eat you, since 
 you have robbed it of its food :" but she paid no at 
 tention to his banter. In her eleventh year, Ellen 
 became acquainted with a poor girl, named Kate, 
 
On 1he Eve. 45 
 
 whom she used to meet secretly in the garden, 
 bringing with her sweets or cakes, sometimes a pres 
 ent of money or dress ; for Kate never accepted toys. 
 They used to sit for hours together on the dry ground 
 beneath a hedge, and while contentedly munching hei 
 bit of stale bread, Kate would tell her friend the 
 story of her life. She had an ill-tempered aunt, who 
 was constantly beating her ; Kate not unnaturally 
 hated her, and liked to talk of how some day she 
 would run away, and " trust to God for food and 
 health." It was with a feeling of secret reverence 
 and fear that Ellen heard this, to her, novel and 
 strange expression ; she looked at Kate attentively, 
 and at that moment everything about her friend her 
 eyes black, sparkling, and almost savage, her sun 
 burnt hands, her low voice, and even her tattered 
 dress seemed to Ellen to bear an imprint of sancti 
 ty. She returned home in a thoughtful mood, pon 
 dered long over those words, " Trust to God for food 
 and health," and resolved to cut a good stout stick 
 for herself, run away with Kate, and get her livelihood 
 by selling bouquets of violets. She began at this time 
 to avoid her relations, and to have fits of misanthro 
 py. Once, having gone to meet Kate during a show 
 er, she came back with her dress dirty and wet; her 
 father remarked it, and called her a slut. She did 
 not say a word in reply, but her heart swelled with a 
 strange feeling of anger and discontent. Kate often 
 sang to her one of the common soldier-songs, and 
 
46 On the Eve. 
 
 Ellen learned the words. On one occasion her moth 
 er chanced to overhear her singing it, and angrily 
 asked, " Where did you pick up that vulgar pothouse 
 song ?" Ellen only looked at her mother, and did not 
 answer a word : she felt that she would rather be 
 torn in pieces than betray her secret ; and again her 
 heart swelled with a strange feeling of angry discon 
 tent. But her friendship for Kate was fated to come 
 to an .abrupt and tragical end ; the poor girl caught 
 a fever, and, after a few days illness, died. Ellen 
 was bitterly grieved at this her great loss, and for 
 several nights was unable to sleep. Those solemn 
 words of the poor girl were incessantly ringing in her 
 ears, and the dead seemed to be calling her to join 
 her. 
 
 Thus years went by ; and Ellen s youth, like the 
 waters beneath a frozen stream, flowed on silently 
 and quickly, in outward inactivity, but in inward un 
 easiness and strife. She had no friends, nor was 
 there one among all that visited the Stachoffs with 
 whom she became intimate. Her parents had never 
 had much authority or influence over her, and from 
 her sixteenth year Ellen" became almost independent, 
 living a life of her own, solitary and apart. In soli 
 tude her soul by fitful turns expanded and contract 
 ed, beating its wings like a bird in its cage, though 
 there was none that cared to confine or restrain her 
 movements. But in spite of this freedom she was 
 none the less disquieted and uneasy. At times she 
 
On the Eve. 47" 
 
 could not understand the reason of the turbulent 
 feelings which possessed her, and even grew afraid 
 of herself. The life that surrounded her seemed at 
 its best trifling and unbearable. " How live without 
 love ? to love no one !" she thought, and her heart 
 was filled with a strange and indefinable desire. 
 When eighteen, she nearly died of a fever, and it 
 was long before her constitution, naturally robust and 
 healthy, regained its original strength. At length all 
 traces of this severe illness disappeared, though her 
 father, not without a little irritation, would still com 
 plain of her nervous temperament. At times she 
 would be oppressed with a vague longing for some 
 thing, she knew not what, something that none be 
 fore her had ever wished for, something that none in 
 all Russia had ever imagined. And then she grew 
 quieter, laughed at her own simplicity, passed a few 
 days in careless ease, when suddenly the indefinite 
 longing returned with a force that resisted all her 
 efforts to repel it, and once more the storm passed 
 over, leaving her weary, feebly beating her wings 
 against the cage.. These passionate yearnings, how 
 ever much she might try to conceal them from others, 
 could not but exercise a powerful influence upon her 
 disposition and her health ; and her parents, as they 
 remarked her " strange ways," were more than once 
 justified in shrugging their shoulders, and declaring 
 they could not make her out. 
 
 On the day when our story opens, Ellen sat 
 
48 On the Eve. 
 
 longer than usual by the window. She thought much 
 of Bersieneff and of their conversation. He pleased 
 her: she believed in the warmth of his feelings, in 
 the purity of his intentions. Never before had he 
 spoken with her as he spoke that evening. She un 
 derstood the meaning of his timid glances, his smile, 
 and smiled herself, and fell into a train of thought, 
 but no longer of him. She gazed wistfully into the 
 night, gazed long on the dark lowering sky ; then rose 
 up, pushed back her hair from her face, and, without 
 knowing why she did so, stretched out toward the sky 
 her bare cold hands. A few minutes passed, and she 
 abruptly let them fall, threw herself on her knees by 
 the side of her bed, and, hiding her face on the pil 
 low, in spite of all her efforts to restrain them, burst 
 into a flood of warm passionate tears. 
 
On the Eve. 49 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 UERSIENEFF S INTERVIEW WITH INSAROFF. 
 
 AT twelve o clock on the next day Bersieneff set 
 out for Moscow. He had to receive some 
 money through the post, as well as to buy a few 
 books ; besides which, he wished to see his friend 
 Insaroff. During his late conversation with Shou- 
 bine the idea had come into his head of inviting 
 Insaroff to spend the summer with him at Koon- 
 tsoff. For a long time he could not find him : he 
 had removed from his old lodging, and it was no easy 
 task to discover his new one. At last he learned that 
 he now lived in the back courtyard of a large stone 
 house built after the fashion of the St. Petersburg 
 houses. In vain he mounted one staircase after 
 another, and equally useless were his inquiries of the 
 dvornick* or of any chance passer-by. In Petersburg, 
 it is true, dvornicks have a knack of avoiding all in 
 quirers, and in Moscow this habit is fast becoming 
 general. No one paid the slightest attention to him ; 
 
 * Dvornick in Russian answers to the French concierge, only 
 much dirtier in his dress, and, if possible, more uncivil in his 
 manners. 
 
50 On the Eve. 
 
 a tailor, in his shirt-sleeves, and with a skein of thread 
 thrown over his shoulders, looked out of his window, 
 but, having satisfied his curiosity, drew his swarthy 
 unshaven face in again, and, crossing his legs on his 
 board, resumed his work. At last a woman in an old 
 cloak, and with shoes horridly trodden down at the 
 heels, took pity on Bersieneff, whom she had been 
 watching for some time in silence, and directed him 
 to InsarofFs room. It formed a part of that same 
 tailor s lodging who had so quietly watched Bersieneff 
 from his window : a large room, almost bare of fur 
 niture, with a dark-green paper on the walls, three 
 square windows, a tiny bed in one corner, and a 
 leather-covered sofa in another, and a huge cage, 
 formerly the home of a nightingale long since dead, 
 hanging from the centre of the ceiling. Insaroff rose 
 up to meet his friend before he had well crossed the 
 threshold; but, instead of crying out, "Ah, that is 
 you ! " " What good fortune brings you here ? " or 
 even " How do you do ? " he simply gave him his 
 hand, and led him to the only chair there was in the 
 room. 
 
 " Take the chair," he said, himself sitting down 
 on the edge of the table ; " you see, I am scarcely 
 in order," he continued, pointing to a heap of papers 
 and books that lay on the floor; "I have still to buy 
 a little furniture, and ought to have done so long ago, 
 but have had no time." 
 
 Insaroff spoke Russian with fluency and correct- 
 
On the Eve. 51 
 
 ness, pronouncing each word distinctly and accu 
 rately ; but the guttural tone of his voice showed 
 that he was no Russian, whilst his figure and appear 
 ance still more clearly indicated his foreign extrac 
 tion. He was a young man of about twenty-five, 
 thin and muscular in shape, with a hollow chest and 
 horny hands. His features were sharp and well de 
 fined ; his nose was slightly curved; his hair of a 
 light chestnut color ; his eyes small, keen and sunken ; 
 his forehead small but prominent; his teeth of a 
 beautiful whiteness ; but in his thin lips there was an 
 expression of hardness and self-reliance. He was 
 dressed in a surtout, rather the worse for wear, and 
 closely buttoned up to the chin. 
 
 " Why did you leave your old lodging ? " Ber- 
 sieneff asked him. 
 
 " It is cheaper here, and nearer to the university." 
 
 " But now it is vacation. And what is your fancy 
 for living in town during the summer ? When you 
 were moving, you should have taken a little house in 
 the country." 
 
 Insaroff made no answer to this, but offered his 
 visitor a pipe, saying, " You must excuse my having 
 no cigars or cigarettes to give you." 
 
 Bersieneff took the pipe and began smoking. 
 " I have taken a small house for the summer," he 
 added, " near Koontsoff. It is very cheap and com 
 fortable. There is a spare room, too, in the top story." 
 
 Still Insaroff made no answer. 
 
52 O/i the Eve. 
 
 " 1 had thought that if I could only find some one 
 I should like," continued Bersieneff, as he puffed out 
 a huge cloud of smoke " you, for example who 
 would consent to live with me in the room up-stairs 
 ah ! how glorious it would be ! What do you say 
 to it, Demetrius Nikanorovitch ? " 
 
 Insaroff looked at his friend inquiringly. " You 
 propose that I should live with you at Koontsoff ? " 
 
 "Just so: there is a small spare room in the top 
 story." 
 
 " It is very kind of you, Andrew Petrovitch ; but 
 I must tell you frankly my means won t allow me to 
 accept your offer." 
 
 " How won t allow you ? " 
 
 " To live with you in the country : I can t afford 
 to keep two lodgings, one here and another there." 
 
 " Well, but I meant," began Bersieneff, and then 
 stopped. " It would cause you no extra expense," he 
 continued. " You can easily get them to keep this 
 lodging for you till the winter ; and then, everything 
 is so cheap there ; besides, we might manage to dine 
 together." 
 
 Insaroff was silent, and Bersieneff began to feel ill 
 at ease. 
 
 "At least, you must promise to come and see me 
 now and then," he said. "A few steps from my 
 house there lives a family with whom I should like to 
 make you acquainted. Ah ! if you only knew, Insa 
 roff, what a splendid girl there is there ! And a very 
 
On the Eve. 53 
 
 near friend of mine, a first-rate artist, lives with the 
 family ; I am sure you would get on with him. So, 
 it is agreed, you will come. Or, better still, come 
 and stay there altogether. You could work and 
 read there as much as you like. And, you know, I 
 am now getting up my history and philosophy just 
 the subjects that interest you and I have brought 
 plenty of books down with me." 
 
 Insaroff got off the table, and began walking 
 about the room. " Do you mind telling me," he at 
 last asked BersienefT, what rent you pay ? " 
 
 "A hundred roubles." 
 
 " And how many rooms are there ? " 
 
 " Five." 
 
 " For one room, then, that would make twenty 
 roubles." 
 
 "But I tell you, I don t want it all; it is merely 
 standing empty." 
 
 " Very likely," Insaroff answered in a friendly but 
 firm tone ; but you must know that I can only accept 
 your offer on condition that I pay my share of the 
 rent. Twenty roubles I can afford, the more so, as 
 you say living is cheap there." 
 
 " Be it so : though, really, I am ashamed to take 
 money for a room that is of no use to me." 
 
 " I can t come otherwise, Andrew Petrovitch." 
 
 " As you like ; but what an obstinate fellow you 
 are ! " 
 
 It only remained to fix the day on which Insaroff 
 
54 On the Eve. 
 
 should move into the country. The landlord was ac 
 cordingly summoned : but he first sent his daughter, 
 a girl seven years old, with a large flaunting handker 
 chief tied over her head, who listened with a sort of 
 timid attention to all InsarofT had to say, and then 
 went away without a word. A few minutes later his 
 wife was sent up. She, too, had a handkerchief on 
 her head, but it was fortunately neither so capacious 
 nor so exasperatingly flaunting. InsarofT informed 
 her of his intention, at the same time telling her that 
 she was to keep the lodging for him, and to see that 
 his things were not disturbed. The good woman 
 heard all he had to say, and then left him without 
 vouchsafing a word in reply. Last of all, the tailor 
 himself made his appearance. He too required all 
 to be explained to him ; and when, after a long time, 
 he was made to understand, he went clown stairs mut 
 tering to himself, "Near KoontsofT; " but quickly re 
 turned, and, opening the door, cried out, " The 
 lodging is to be kept for you, eh ? " InsarofT satisfied 
 him on this point. " Because, you know, one must 
 be sure," rejoined the worthy, and finally disap 
 peared. 
 
 BersienefT returned home very much pleased with 
 his success. InsarofT accompanied him down-stahs 
 with a politeness that is not usually practised by Rus 
 sians, and soon after his friend s departure was busily 
 engaged in packing his books and papers. 
 
On the Eve. 55 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 YOUTHFUL IMPROPRIETY. 
 
 ON the evening of the same day Anne Vasilievna 
 was sitting in her drawing-room, in a most lach 
 rymose humor, and ready to burst into tears at any 
 moment. Besides her there was in the same room 
 her husband and a certain Urban Ivanovitch Stachoff, 
 a cousin-german of Nicholas, a retired cornet, about 
 sixty years old, so fat that he could hardly move, with 
 a puffy face, pale, thick lips, and yellowish sleepy eyes. 
 Since his retirement from the service he lived con 
 stantly at Moscow on the interest of a small property 
 that had been left him by his wife. He never did 
 anything, and probably never thought, or if he did, he 
 carefully, kept his thoughts to himself. Only once in 
 his life was he ever known to have been excited, and 
 to have shown something like activity, and it hap 
 pened thus : he read in the papers of a new instru 
 ment at the Great Exhibition in London, called the 
 " contrabombardon," and at once desired to get one 
 for himself, and even went so far as to make in 
 quiries where he could order one, and how he could 
 remit the money. Urban Ivanovitch generally wore 
 
56 On the Eve. 
 
 a snuff-colored coat and an equally capacious white 
 neckerchief; he ate frequently and heartily; and in 
 moments of embarrassment, that is, whenever he was 
 called upon to express an opinion, gave a slow flour 
 ish with his hand in the air, raising in succession each 
 separate finger, first beginning with the large finger 
 and ending with the little one, then repeating the op 
 eration vice versd, and finally delivering himself with 
 difficulty of these words: "It may be necessary 
 somehow so to say." 
 
 Urban Ivanovitch was sitting near the window in 
 an arm-chair, thinking deeply. Nicholas Artemvitch 
 was pacing up and down the room, his hands plunged 
 deep in his trowser-pockets, with an expression of dis 
 satisfaction on his face. 
 
 At last he came to a stand-still, and gravely shook 
 his head. " Yes," he began, " in my time young peo 
 ple were brought up differently; they never allowed 
 themselves to manquer in respect to their elders " he 
 pronounced the syllable man through the nose, quite 
 in the French manner " but now i when I look around 
 me, I am lost in wonder. Perhaps / am wrong, and 
 they are right ; it may be so. But still I have my way 
 of looking at things, I was not born a fool. What may 
 be your opinion, Urban Ivanovitch ? " 
 
 UVban Ivanovitch only looked at him, and went 
 through his usual finger pantomime. . 
 
 " There s Ellen Nicholaevna, for example," con 
 tinued Nicholas Artemvitch ; " I don t understand her, 
 
On the Eve. 57 
 
 I really don t. I am not fine enough for her. Her 
 heart is so large that it can sympathize with all nature, 
 down to the tiniest beetle or ugliest frog all, in a 
 word, except her own father. Well, very good, I re 
 cognize the fact, and am silent. You see, these fine 
 sensations, this learning, these lofty soarings to heaven 
 are not in my nature. But that Mr. Shoubine, who, I 
 allow, is an excellent artist, a man of unusual genius 
 that I don t dispute should also fail in showing prop 
 er respect to his elders, to a man to whom, I may say, 
 he owes very much, is a thing which I confess, dans mon 
 gros bon sens, I cannot allow. I am not at all exacting 
 by nature far from it ; but there is a limit to every 
 thing." 
 
 Anne Vasilievna rang a bell with some impatience. 
 A young Cossack servant entered the room. 
 
 " Should not Paul Jakovlevitch be sent for ? " she 
 said : " may I ask him to come ? " 
 
 Nicholas Artemvitch shrugged his shoulders. 
 " Why, pray, do you wish to ask him to come here ? 
 I do not demand his presence in any way, do not at 
 all desire it." 
 
 " Why not, Nicholas Artemvitch ? He has put 
 you out, and when you are undergoing medical treat 
 ment. I wish to have an explanation with him. I 
 should like to know how he dared to vex you." 
 
 " I repeat that I do not demand any explanation. 
 And, then, what bad taste devant les domestiques " 
 
 Anne Vasilievna slightly blushed. "-You are not 
 
58 On the Eve. 
 
 justified in saying that, Nicholas Artemvitch. I never 
 devant les domestiques. You may go, Theodosins, 
 but ask Paul Jakovlevitch to come here directly." 
 
 The servant went out. 
 
 " It is altogether unnecessary," muttered Nicholas 
 Artemvitch, as he began again to prance up and 
 down the room. " It was not with that object I in 
 troduced the subject." 
 
 " But of course Paul must excuse himself to you." 
 
 " What do I care for his excuses ? And what 
 does that mean, to excuse one s self ? It is merely a 
 fine phrase." 
 
 " It may be so ; but he must be made to explain 
 his conduct." 
 
 " Make him do that yourself. He is more likely 
 to listen to you. I have no authority over him." 
 
 " No, Nicholas Artemvitch, you are quite out of 
 sorts to-day. Indeed, I have noticed lately that you 
 are getting thin. I am afraid that the treatment you 
 are undergoing is only doing you harm." 
 
 " It is absolutely necessary that I should continue 
 the treatment," Nicholas Artemvitch answered : " my 
 liver is quite out of order." 
 
 At this moment Shoubine entered. There was an 
 expression of weariness about his looks, but at the 
 same time an almost imperceptible smile on his face. 
 
 " You wanted to see me, Anne Vasilievna ? " he 
 inquired. 
 
 " Yes I did. Really, Paul, it is too bad. I am 
 
On the Eve. 59 
 
 altogether displeased with you. How could you be 
 so disrespectful to Nicolas Artemvitch ? " 
 
 " Has Nicholas Artemvitch been complaining to 
 you of me ? " asked Shoubine, as with an ill-sup 
 pressed smile he turned to Stachoff. But the latter 
 turned aside, and kept his eyes fixed on the ground. 
 
 "Yes, he has. I do not know in what you have 
 offended him, but you ought at once to excuse your 
 self, because his health is just now very delicate ; and 
 besides, we young people cannot be too respectful." 
 
 " Feminine logic," thought Shoubine to himself ; 
 and then, turning to Stachoff, said aloud, with a po 
 lite bow, " I am quite willing, Nicholas Artemvitch, 
 to ask your pardon, if I have really offended you in 
 any way." 
 
 " I did not at all wish for this," exclaimed Nicho 
 las Artemvitch, still avoiding Shoubine s glance. " For 
 the rest, I gladly accept your excuses, for, as you 
 well know, I am not exacting by nature." 
 
 " Oh, that admits of no doubt ! " added Shoubine. 
 " But might I be so curious as to ask whether Anne 
 Vasilievna knows what my offence you have just 
 pardoned is ? " 
 
 " No, I know nothing," said Anne Vasilievna, 
 stretching out her neck. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " hastily cried Nicholas Artem 
 vitch, "how many times have I not begged and 
 prayed, how many times have I not told you that all 
 these explanations and scenes are hateful to mel 
 
60 On the Eve. 
 
 You come home, no matter when, longing for quiet 
 and repose do they not talk about the family circle, 
 
 interieur, the domestic hearth ? and directly there 
 
 are scenes, unpleasantnesses. Not a minute s quiet. 
 You are driven away to your club or or somewhere 
 else. Man is a creature whose physical nature has 
 its special wants, but here " 
 
 And without staying to finish his speech, Nicholas 
 Artemvitch hurriedly left the room, banging the door 
 noisily after him. " To the club?" muttered Anne 
 Vasilievna, in a bitter tone, as she looked in the di 
 rection of the door ; " it is not to the club you go, in 
 consistent one ! There is no one in the club to whom 
 you would give a pair of horses, and the grey ones 
 too, my favorite color. No, no," she continued, rais 
 ing her voice, " it is not to the club you go. And 
 you, Paul," she went on, getting up from her chair, 
 " are you not ashamed of yourself ? You are not a 
 boy, you know. Ah ! now my head begins to ache. 
 Where is Zoe ? can t you tell me ? " 
 . " I suppose she is upstairs. In such weather a 
 wise fox always makes for his hole." 
 
 " Enough, enough ! " Anne Vasilievna looked 
 around her. " Have you not seen my glass of bit 
 ters ? Paul, for the future, be so kind as not to irri 
 tate me." 
 
 " How have I vexed you, aunt ! Well, let me 
 kiss your hand. As to the bitters, I saw your glass 
 on the table in the study." 
 
On the Eve. 61 
 
 " Dorothy is always leaving it somewhere or oth 
 er," grumbled Anne Vasilievna, as she left the room, 
 her silk dress rustling behind her. 
 
 Shoubine was about to go out after her, but 
 was arrested by the meditative voice of Urban Ivan- 
 ovitch. 
 
 " May you not have acted like a simpleton ? " 
 said the ex-cornet, bringing out his words by jerks 
 and intervals. 
 
 Shoubine came up to him. " And pray, worthy Ur 
 ban Ivanovitch, how should I act ? " 
 
 " How ? you are young : so, respect : yes." 
 
 " Respect whom ? " 
 
 " Whom ? you know : why pretend you don t ? " 
 
 " You see," replied Shoubine, " he is no younker, 
 is a nobleman, and yet what a child in credulity and 
 simple faith ! Respect ! And do you know why Nich 
 olas Artemvitch is angry with me ? Well, I spent the 
 whole morning with him at his German friend s : we 
 sang a trio, Do not, do not leave me ; a pity you were 
 not there, it just suits your voice. So we sang, my 
 dear sir, and sang, till I began to grow quite weary ; 
 and I saw it was a hopeless affair, an enormous amount 
 of loving. I began making fun of them both : and 
 got on swimmingly. At first she was angry with me, 
 then with him ; and next he got in a rage with her, 
 and told her that he was only happy at home, that his 
 home was his paradise ; and she replied that he had 
 no manners ; whereupon I suggested no German man- 
 
62 On the Eve. 
 
 ners : and he wenVoff in a huff, but I stayed behind ; 
 he .x^_mje...rieFe, that is, to his paradise, but even his 
 paradise has no delights for him. That is why he 
 was seized with a fit of grumbling. And now which 
 of us do you think is to blame ? " 
 
 " Of course, you are," answered Urban Ivan- 
 ovitch. 
 
 Shoubine came close up to him. " May I venture 
 to ask you, my excellent chevalier," he said in a tone 
 of mock deference, " whether you have condescended 
 to pronounce these enigmatical words with the wish 
 to try the extent of your thinking faculties, or merely 
 under the influence of a momentary desire to give 
 your tongue an airing ? " 
 
 " Don t be satirical," sighed Urban Ivanovitch. 
 
 Shoubine gave a laugh, and quitted the room. A 
 quarter of an hour after Urban Ivanovitch was to be 
 heard crying out, " Eh, you there, bring me a glass of 
 cognac." 
 
 The young Cossack brought the cognac and some 
 schnapps on a waiter. Urban Ivanovitch took the 
 wine-glass from the tray very deliberately, and looked 
 at it for a long while with deep attention, as though he 
 were not quite sure what it was he had in his hand. 
 Then he gazed at the Cossack, and asked him whether 
 Basil was not calling him. He then put on a mourn 
 ful expression, drank off the cognac, and began very 
 slowly taking his handkerchief out of his pocket. But 
 the Cossack had already put by the tray and liquor 
 
On the E 
 
 bottle, eaten what remained of 
 
 ceeded in falling asleep, whilst Urban* 
 
 still fumbling for his handkerchief, and gazing with 
 
 the same fixed stare at the window, then at the floor, 
 
 and finally at the wall. 
 
64 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A HOPELESS CASE. 
 
 SHOUBINE proceeded at once to his room, and 
 sat down to read. One of the servants of Nich 
 olas Artemvitch came cautiously in, and seeing that 
 he was alone gave him a small three-cornered note, 
 sealed with a large heraldic seal. The note read as 
 follows : " I hope that you, as an honorable man, will 
 not allow yourself to hint to anyone by a single word 
 what you happened to hear this morning in reference 
 to a certain bill of exchange. My position is known 
 to you, the trifling nature of the sum, and other circum 
 stances : besides, it is a family secret that has a right 
 to be respected ; and the peace of a family is a thing 
 so sacred that none but fares sans cceur, in which class 
 I do not include yourself, would ever dare to disturb 
 it. Please to return this note. N. S." 
 
 Shoubine scrawled these words underneath in pen 
 cil : " Don t be afraid : mum is the word," gave the 
 note back to the servant, and took up his book again. 
 But he soon let it fall listlessly from his hand. He 
 gazed on the red sky, on two hardy firs, which grew 
 quite apart from the other trees, and thinking to him 
 
On the Eve. 65 
 
 self, " In the day firs are blue, but in the evening what 
 a magnificent green they have ! " went out into the 
 garden, with the secret hope of meeting Ellen there. 
 He was not disappointed. Straight before him, along 
 the path that ran between some bushes, was to be seen 
 the shimmer of her dress. He overtook her, and as 
 he came up to her side, he muttered, " Don t look 
 this way ; I am not worth it." 
 
 She gave a quick glance at him, and with a low 
 laugh hurried foward toward the centre of the garden. 
 Shoubine followed her. 
 
 " I ask you not to look at me," he began, " and 
 yet I talk to you, which is slightly inconsistent. But 
 it is all the same, it is not the first time I am so. I 
 have just recollected that I have not yet, as I ought 
 to have done, begged your pardon for my stupid be 
 havior yesterday. You are not angry with me, Ellen 
 Nicholaevna ?" 
 
 She stood still, but did not answer him at first, 
 not that she was angry, but her thoughts were else 
 where. 
 
 " No," she said at length, " I am not in the least 
 angry." 
 
 " What a preoccupied, and yet what a quiet expres 
 sion !" thought Shoubine, and then continued aloud, 
 " Ellen Nicholaevna let me tell you a little story. I 
 once had a friend, and this friend had in his turn anoth 
 er friend who for a while conducted himself as a re 
 spectable man should, but at last took to drinking 
 5 
 
66 On the Eve. 
 
 Once early in the morning my friend met him in the 
 street you understand they were already friends 
 but perceiving he was drunk, turned aside from him 
 as though he had not seen him. Whereupon the lat 
 ter came up to him and said, I should not have been 
 angry at your bowing to me ; but why turn aside from 
 me ? Is it that I cause you shame ? Peace to my 
 ashes !" Shoubine was silent. 
 
 "And is that all?" Ellen asked. "I do not un 
 derstand you. What do you mean? You only just 
 now told me that I was not to look at you." 
 
 " Yes, and now I tell you how ill it is to turn 
 aside." 
 
 " And did I really" began Ellen. 
 
 " Did you not?" 
 
 Ellen blushed slightly, and stretched out her hand 
 to Shoubine. He pressed it warmly. 
 
 " You have caught me not in the best of humors," 
 said Ellen ; " but your suspicions are not just. I never 
 wished to be cold to you." 
 
 " Granted, granted. But confess that you have at 
 this moment a thousand thoughts flitting through your 
 head, not one of which you would consent to confide 
 to me ? Well, is it not true what I say ? " 
 
 " Perhaps it is." 
 
 " But why ? But why ? " 
 
 " My thoughts are not quite clear to myself," an 
 swered Ellen. 
 
 " Then confide them to another," replied Shoubiae 
 
On the Eve. 67 
 
 " But I will tell you what it is ; you have a bad opin 
 ion of me." 
 
 " I ? " 
 
 " Yes, you. You fancy that everything about me 
 is half-shame, because I am an artist ; that I am not 
 good for anything perhaps you are right there not 
 even capable of a sincere deep feeling; that I can feel 
 no real grief; that I am but a farceur and a player: 
 and all because I am an artist. Are we not unfortun 
 ate, God-forsaken creatures ? You, I would swear, you 
 don t believe in my contrition." 
 
 " No, Paul Jakovlevitch, I believe in your repent 
 ance, and I believe in your grief ; but I think that 
 your very repentance, and your grief too, amuse you." 
 
 Shoubine shuddered. " So, I see, it is, as the doc 
 tors say, a hopeless case, casus inctirabilis. There is 
 nothing to be done but to bow the head and submit. 
 And yet, heavens, is it really so, that I must live com 
 pletely isolated, whilst close beside me breathes a soul 
 so pure ? And to know that I can never fathom that 
 soul, never come to know what it is that afflicts it, 
 why it rejoices, in what fancies it indulges, what are 
 its desires, or what its aspirations. But tell me," he 
 added after a short silence, " you never, not for any 
 thing, under no circumstances, could be brought to 
 love an artist." 
 
 Ellen looked straight in his eyes as she answered, 
 I do not think I could, Paul Jakovlevitch." 
 
 " Quod erat demonstrandum" replied Shoubine, 
 
68 On the Eve. 
 
 with a comical smile. " And now, I suppose, I have 
 no right to disturb your solitary walk. A professor, to 
 be sure, might ask on what grounds you gave that an 
 swer, No. But I am no professor, a mere child in 
 your opinion ; but even from children do not turn 
 aside, remember that. Good-bye. Peace to my ashes !" 
 
 Ellen wished to retain him ; but after a moment s 
 reflection said merely, " Good-bye." 
 
 Shoubine hurried out of the garden, but had not 
 gone far when he met Bersieneff. " Andrew Petro- 
 vitch ! " cried Shoubine. The latter stopped. " Go 
 on, go on," continued Shoubine ; " I only spoke so ; 
 I won t keep you : go on, as quickly as you can, into 
 the garden ; Ellen is there apparently she is waiting 
 for you ; at least, she is waiting for somebody. You 
 understand : she is waiting ! Ah, my friend, what a 
 strange history ! Imagine, for these two years I have 
 been living with her in the same house, loved her, and 
 only now, this very minute, understanding nothing, 
 saw her, saw her, and parted. Do not despise me, 
 I pray, with that would-be sarcastic smile which sits 
 but ill upon you ; yes, I understand, you mean to re 
 mind me of Annette. What then ? I don t make pre 
 tensions. Annettes are below our great friend. So hail 
 to Annette and Zoe ; ah, and even Atigustina ! You 
 go now to Ellen, she is in the garden ; and I you 
 think I am going to Annette s ? No, my good friend, 
 much worse, to Prince Tchikurasoff : he is a kind of 
 Mecaenas among the Tartars of Kayan. You see this 
 
On the Eve. 69 
 
 invitation fiom the Prince, these mystic letters R. S. 
 V. P. ? There is no rest even in the country." 
 
 Bersieneff listened to Shoubine s tirade in silence, 
 though not without confusion; and then set off in the 
 direction of the Stachoffs garden. Shoubine did act 
 ually go to see Prince Tchikurasoff, and talked with 
 him in the most familiar style, and with something like 
 caustic insolence. The Tartar Mecaenas laughed, his 
 guests ventured to smile, all were equally dull, and 
 before they separated every one was alike irritated. In 
 the same way,should two loving acquaintances meet 
 on the Nevsky, they directly begin showing their teeth 
 to one another, and smirk away with all their might ; 
 but no sooner have they passed one another than 
 each resumes his equally serious expression of coun 
 tenance. 
 
70 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A BULGARIAN S WRONGS. 
 
 ELLEN received Bersieneff in a most friendly 
 manner \ not in the garden, however, but in 
 the drawing-room, and at once, with something like 
 impatience, went back to the subject of yesterday s 
 conversation. She was alone : Nicholas Artemvitch 
 had quietly gone off, no one knew whither ; Anne 
 Vasilievna was lying up stairs, with a wet towel round 
 her head ; Zoe was sitting by her, supposed to be re 
 pairing a petticoat, but with her hands idly crossed 
 on her knees ; Urban Ivanovitch was reposing in 
 the garret on a broad comfortable sofa, which from 
 its enormous size had been baptized the Samson 
 sofa. Bersieneff again began talking of his father; 
 nothing could be more touching than his religious 
 reverence for all that concerned his father. We too 
 will take this opportunity of saying a few words about 
 him. 
 
 The proprietor of eighty-two serfs, whom he freed 
 before his death, one of the illuminati, an old stu 
 dent of Gottingen University, and author of a manu 
 script composition, entitled Antitypes^ or Emblems of 
 
On the Eve. 71 
 
 the, Soul in the Physical World , in which there was a 
 quaint mixture of Hegelism, Swedenborgianism, and 
 Republicanism, Bersieneffs father took him to Mos 
 cow whilst he was still a mere boy, immediately after 
 his mother s death, and superintended his education 
 himself. He assisted him in his preparation for 
 every lesson, was never tired of working with him, 
 and yet all his labors were fruitless ; for he was a 
 dreamer, a book-worm, a mystic, had no fluency of 
 speech, expressed himself darkly and ambiguously, 
 indulged in strange comparisons and similitudes, and 
 thus estranged his son, in spite of his passionate love 
 for him. The boy only went to sleep over his les 
 sons, and made no progress in any one of his studies- 
 The old man he was about fifty, and had married 
 late in life at last perceived that things were not go 
 ing on favorably, and placed his son Andrew at a 
 school. Andrew began to study for himself, but was 
 not released from his father s surveillance; the old 
 man was for ever paying him visits, worried the poor 
 schoolmaster to death with his advice and sugges 
 tions ; the ushers too were pestered by their unin 
 vited guest, who was constantly bringing them some 
 valuable book on education. The very pupils were 
 ashamed of the old man s swarthy, wrinkled face, his 
 lank figure, and his eternal grey coat that hung about 
 him like a sack. Little did these same pupils suspect 
 that this same serious, smileless old man, with his 
 stork-like gait and long nose, fretted and worried over 
 
72 On the Eve. 
 
 the welfare and success of each of them as though 
 they were his own sonsN Once he determined to 
 make a speech to them about Washington. " My 
 young children," he began; but at the first sounds of 
 his cracked voice all his young children scampered 
 off. The worthy Gottingen professor did not live on 
 a bed of roses, but was being perpetually nonplussed 
 by the march of events, bothered by new questions 
 and new theroies. When young Bersieneff entered 
 the university, the father religiously attended all the 
 lectures ; but his health was already beginning to give 
 way. The events of 1848 fairly killed him, his whole 
 book required rewriting ! and he died in the winter 
 of his fifty-third year, before his son had finished his 
 university career, but still able to congratulate him on 
 his candidate s degree, and to dedicate him solemnly 
 to the study of the sciences. " I hand over to you 
 the lamp of knowledge," were his dying words ; " I 
 have guarded it as long as was permitted me : see 
 that you keep it faithfully to the end." 
 
 Long did Bersieneff speak to Ellen of his father. 
 The awkward shyness he had before felt in her pres 
 ence gradually disappeared, nor did he lisp so much 
 in his speech. The conversation turned upon his 
 university career. 
 
 "Tell me," Ellen asked him, "were there any re 
 markable men up in your time ? " 
 
 Bersieneff thought of Shoubine again. 
 
 "No, Ellen Nicholaevna; to tell you the truth, 
 
On the Eve. 73 
 
 we had not one remarkable man amongst us. And 
 then how could it be otherwise ? They say there 
 was a time when Moscow University was worthy of 
 its title. But it is no longer so. Now it is only a 
 school, no university at all. I found no pleasure in 
 my fellow-students," he continued in a lower tone. 
 
 " No pleasure ? " murmured Ellen. 
 
 " And yet," continued Bersieneff, "I must correct 
 myself. I know one student, it is true, he is not of 
 the same standing as myself, who is really a remark 
 able man." 
 
 "And what is his name ? " eagerly asked Ellen. 
 
 " Insaroff, Demetrius Nikanorovitch. He is a 
 Bulgarian." 
 
 " Not a Russian ? " 
 
 " No, not a Russian." 
 
 " Why then does he live at Moscow ? " 
 
 " He went there in order to study. And dp you 
 know with what aim he is studying ? He has but one 
 idea, the freedom of his country. And his history is 
 an extraordinary one. His father, a merchant suf 
 ficiently well-to-do in the world, was born at TernorT. 
 Ternoffis now a little town, but it was once the capital 
 city of Bulgaria, when Bulgaria was still an independ 
 ent kingdom. He carried on trade in Sophia, and 
 had business transactions in Russia : his sister, In- 
 saroffs aunt, lives at the present moment at Kieff, 
 having married an old teacher of history in one of 
 the schools there. In 1835, that is just eighteen years 
 
74 On the Eve. 
 
 ago, a terrible crime was committed : Insaroff s moth 
 er disappeared suddenly leaving no trace behind her, 
 and within a week her dead body was discovered, the 
 throat cut from ear to ear." 
 
 Ellen trembled with fright, and Bersieneff stopped 
 short. 
 
 " Go on ! Go on ! " she whispered. 
 
 " It was currently reported that the Turkish Aga 
 had first violated and then murdered her ; her hus 
 band, Insaroff s father, discovered that it really was so, 
 and resolved to be revenged, but only succeeded in 
 wounding the Aga with a dagger. He was immedi 
 ately shot." 
 
 " Shot ? without a trial ? " 
 
 " Yes. Insaroff was then in his eighth year. He 
 was given into the charge of a neighbor. But when 
 his father s sister learned what a terrible tragedy had 
 been enacted in her brother s family, she begged to be 
 allowed to bring up her nephew. He was accordingly 
 removed to Odessa, and thence to Kieff. In Kieff he 
 lived altogether twenty years. That is why he speaks 
 Russian so well." 
 
 " He speaks Russian ? " 
 
 " As well as you or I. When he had attained his 
 twentieth year that was. in the beginning of 1848 
 he wished to return to his fatherland. He went to 
 Sophia, to Ternoff, and travelled all over Bulgaria, 
 spending two years there, and thus learned his native 
 language again. He suffered a great deal of persecu- 
 
On the Eve. 75 
 
 tion at the hands of the Turkish government, and 
 must during those two years have often been in great 
 danger. I once remarked on his neck a broad cica 
 trice, evidently the trace of a severe wound : but he 
 does not like to talk of all this. He is naturally very 
 taciturn. I have tried to get the whole story out of 
 him, but never succeeded, as he invariably answered 
 in some vague way. He is terribly self-willed. In 
 1850 he went to Moscow, with the intention of com 
 pleting his studies, and in order to become united 
 with the Russians, but when he has finished his uni 
 versity career " 
 
 " What will lie do then ? " interrupted Ellen. 
 
 " What God wills. It takes a wise man to divine 
 the future." 
 
 Ellen looked earnestly and long at Bersieneff. 
 " You have interested me very much by your story," 
 she said ; " what kind of man is he, this friend of 
 yours ? how did you call him Insaroff ? " 
 
 " I scarcely know what to say : in my opinion, not 
 a bad fellow. But you will see him, and can judge for 
 yourself." 
 
 " How is that ? " 
 
 I will bring him over to see you. He is coming 
 the day after to-morrow, and will live with me the 
 rest of the summer." 
 
 " Really ! But will he care about coming to see us?" 
 
 " Why not ! He will be very glad." 
 
 " He is n&t proud ? " 
 
76 On the Eve. 
 
 " Proud ? Yes, a little ; that is, if you like, he is 
 proud, but not in the sense you mean. For example, 
 he will never borrow a penny from any one." 
 
 " He is poor then ? " 
 
 " Well, he is not rich. When he went to Bulgaria, 
 he got together the little that remained of his father s 
 property, and his aunt helped him ; but he has not 
 much wealth to boast of." 
 
 " He must have a great deal of character," Ellen 
 said. 
 
 " Yes, he is a man of iron will. And yet, together 
 with all his self-reliance and reserve, there is a great 
 deal of childish openness about him. True, he is not 
 open after the manner of our people, who are very 
 open, because they have nothing worth hiding. But 
 I will bring him to see you, only wait a little." 
 
 " And he is not shy ? " Ellen asked again. 
 
 " Certainly not. Only selfish peoole are shy." 
 
 " Are you selfish then ? " 
 
 Bersieneff smiled as he began playing with his 
 fingers. 
 
 " You have excited my curiosity," continued Ellen. 
 " But, tell me, he never revenged himself on the Turk 
 ish Aga ? " 
 
 " Vengeance is all very well in novels, Ellen Nich- 
 olaevna ; and, besides, it is most likely that the Aga 
 died in the course of those twenty years." 
 
 " But Mr. Insaroff never spoke to you about it ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
On the Eve. 77 
 
 " Why did he go to Sophia ? " 
 
 " His father had lived there." 
 
 Ellen was lost in thought. " To free one s coun 
 try ! " she murmured. u These words have a magic 
 ring in them ; they are noble words." 
 
 At this moment Anne Vasilievna came into the 
 room, and the conversation was interrupted. 
 
 Strange feelings possessed Bersieneff as he re 
 turned home that evening. He did not repent of 
 his promise to make Ellen acquainted with InsarorT; 
 he found the deep impression which his stories about 
 the young Bulgarian had produced on her to be but 
 natural, nay, had he not himself done his best to 
 strengthen this impression ? But there was a secret 
 ill-defined feeling of anger in his heart ; he was op 
 pressed with a heaviness of spirit, though he scarce 
 knew why. But this melancholy did not prevent his 
 sitting down to the History of Hotftenstauffen, and he 
 began reading from the page where he had left off 
 the night before. 
 
78 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 INSAROFF S WORK. 
 
 TWO days later Insaroff arrived at Koontsoff 
 with a very small amount of luggage. He had 
 no servant, but without making any ado at once set 
 about putting his room in order, arranged the furni 
 ture, dusted it all, and then swept the floor. His 
 greatest trouble was with the writing-table, which for 
 a long while refused to settle down in the corner as 
 signed for it; but Insaroff, with the patient persis 
 tence natural to him, finaly succeeded in overcoming 
 its obstinacy. When all was arranged, he enclosed 
 to Bersieneff ten roubles in advance; and then, arm 
 ing himself with a stout stick, set out to reconnoitre 
 the environs of his new dwelling. He returned in 
 about three hours time, and in reply to Bersieneff s 
 proposal that they should keep common table, ac 
 cepted the invitation to dinner for that day, but in 
 formed him that he had already made arrangements 
 with the landlady of the house, who had agreed to 
 supply him with his meals. 
 
 " My good fellow," cried Bersieneff, " you will 
 fare very badly. The old woman has not the remot- 
 
On the Eve. 79 
 
 est idea of cooking. Why don t you cline with me ? 
 We might divide the expenses." 
 
 " My means don t allow me to dine as you are ac 
 customed to do," answered Insaroff, with a quiet 
 smile. 
 
 There was something in this smile which forbade 
 any further discussion, and Bersieneff said no more. 
 After dinner he proposed that they should call upon 
 the Stachoffs \ but Insaroff declared his intention to 
 devote the whole evening to letter-writing, and begged 
 Bersieneff to postpone the visit till another day. The 
 inflexibility of Insaroff was well known to Bersieneff ; 
 but now that they were living under one roof he 
 might reasonably have been offended at this precis 
 ion in matters of the most trifling import. To Ber 
 sieneff, a genuine Russian, this more than German 
 accuracy at first appeared to be a violation of good 
 manners, and even somewhat ridiculous ; but he soon 
 accustomed himself to it; and if he could not justify 
 it on the score of politeness, grew reconciled as to an 
 inevitable thing. 
 
 On the second day after his arrival, Insaroff got 
 up at four o clock, took a tremendous walk, had a 
 bath in the river, and after a draught of good fresh 
 milk returned home, and sat down to work. His work 
 was of the most varied kind; he was learning Rus 
 sian history, law, and political economy, was trans 
 lating some of the Bulgarian songs and chronicles, 
 was collecting materials in reference to the Eastern 
 
8o On the Eve. 
 
 question, and was engaged on a Russian grammai 
 for Bulgarians, and a Bulgarian grammar for Rus 
 sians. BersienerT came in, and began talking about 
 Feuerbach. InsarofT listened attentively to what he 
 said, answered little, but to the point ; and from his 
 replies it was evident that he was already cogitating 
 the problem whether it was necessary for him to oc 
 cupy himself with Feuerbach, or whether he could 
 do without him. Bersieneff then turned the conver 
 sation on what he was working at, and asked him to 
 show him some of his manuscripts. Insaroff read to 
 him the translation of two or three Bulgarian songs, 
 and begged his judgment of their merits. Bersieneff 
 found the version to be correct, but cold and lifeless ; 
 and Insaroff made a note of the corrections he sug 
 gested. From the songs BersienerT went on to speak 
 of the present position of Bulgaria, and then for the 
 first time remarked what a change came over Insa- 
 roiT at the mere mention of his country : not that his 
 countenance lighted up or that his voice was raised, 
 no ! but his whole being as it were grew into some 
 thing rugged and impassive ; there was a stern inexo 
 rable firmness in the tight compression of his lips, 
 and in his eyes there glowed a dull unquenchable fire. 
 InsarofT did not like to talk of his own journey to 
 Sophia, but was ready to speak with any one of Bul 
 garia. He spoke, but quietly, of the Turks, of their 
 oppression, of the wrongs and sufferings his country 
 men had had to endure, and of their hopes for a hap- 
 
On the Eve. 81 
 
 pier future. The concentrated force of one idea and 
 of one passionate desire was to be heard in his every 
 word. 
 
 " I much suspect," thought Bersieneff, as he list 
 ened to him, " that the Turkish Aga was made to pay 
 dearly for the murder of my friend s father and 
 mother." 
 
 Insaroff had scarcely finished speaking, when the 
 door opened, and Shoubine appeared on the thresh 
 old. There was a jauntiness and an excess of ease 
 in his manner of entering the room which at once 
 told BersienefF, who knew him thoroughly, that some 
 thing was agitating him. 
 
 " I will introduce myself without any of the usual 
 formalities," he began in a jocular tone. " My name 
 is Shoubine, and I am a friend of this young man s 
 (he pointed to Bersieneff) \ and you are Mr. Insaroff, 
 are you not ? " 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "Then give me your hand, and let us be friends. 
 I don t know whether Bersieneff has ever spoken to 
 you of me, but he has scores of times talked to me 
 about you. So you have taken up your quarters 
 here ? Nothing could be better. Don t be angry if 
 I look at you rather fixedly. I am a sculptor by 
 trade, and I warn you beforehand, I shall ask your 
 permission ere long to take a model of your head." 
 
 " My head is at your service," replied Insaroff. 
 
 " What is to be done to-day eh ? " continued Shou- 
 
82 On the Eve. 
 
 bine, sitting;<J0wn on a low chair, and lolling forward 
 as he spoke". What say you, Andrew Petrovitch, has 
 your honor formed any plan for to-day ? The weather 
 is magnificent, and to sniff the hay and fresh fruit 
 were very rapture. We really must make up some 
 pleasure trip. Let us show Koontsoff ? s new inhabi 
 tant all its many beauties." (" What is it that he is 
 suffering from ? y Bersieneff still continued to ask 
 himself.) " Well, why do you keep silent, my friend 
 Horatio ? Open those oracular lips of yours. Shall 
 we amuse ourselves, or not ? " 
 
 " I don t know," observed Bersieneff; " better ask 
 Insaroff ; I rather fancy he wants to work." 
 
 Shoubine turned round on his chair. " Ah you 
 want to work ? " he asked in something like a peevish 
 voice. 
 
 " No," answered Insaroff; " I am quite ready to 
 give up to-day to a long walk." 
 
 " Now that s excellent," cried Shoubine. u Come, 
 my dear Andrew, cover that wise head with your cap, 
 and let us go as far as our legs will carry us. They 
 are young legs, and will probably take us a long way. 
 I know of a wretched inn, where they ll give us an 
 atrocious dinner : but never mind, we shall enjoy our 
 selves. Let s be -going." 
 
 Half an hour later they were all three walking 
 along the bank of the river Moscow. Shoubine was 
 in ecstasies at the shape and color of the travelling- 
 cap which Insaroff wore. Insaroff walked at a slow 
 
On the Eve. 
 
 pace, frequently stopping to examinQ^ajji^plant, and 
 conversed with his friends in a low, quiefe$fiL<*. " > 
 the way good boys walk on a Sunday," Shoubine 
 whispered in BersienefFs ear. As for Shoubine, he 
 was childish in his frolics, now running in advance, 
 now putting himself in some classical pose, now 
 pirouetting on the grass ; and the more serious Insa- 
 roff was, the more extravagant were his antics. 
 
 " How can you be so flighty, you Frenchman ? " 
 asked Bersieneff more than once. 
 
 " Yes, I am a Frenchman, at least, half French ; 
 but you can keep the medium between sport and 
 earnest," answered Shoubine. 
 
 The young men at length leaving the river pro 
 ceeded by a narrow and descending path lined on 
 either side by luxuriant golden rye : a light-blue 
 shadow was cast on them from its lofty stalks, and the 
 rays of the sun played along its topmost ears ; the 
 larks were singing above them, and the chant of birds 
 was to be heard all around ; green meadows stretched 
 before them ; a warm wind gently ruffled the leaves of 
 the trees, and softly bent the heads of the flowers. 
 Thus strolling, resting, and frolicking (Shoubine at 
 one time tried to have a game at leapfrog with an old 
 toothless peasant they chanced to overtake, who only 
 grinned at the " gentlefolks tricks " ) they arrived at 
 the wretched inn for which they were bound. The 
 waiter nearly upset them in his eagerness to serve 
 them, and certainly gave them a most execrable din- 
 
84 On the Eve. 
 
 ner, with some kind of outlandish wine, which, how 
 ever, did not prevent their being very merry, as Shou* 
 bine had predicted ; he being the merriest, and at the 
 same time the least gay, of the party. He drank noisily 
 to the health of the long forgotten, but once illustrious, 
 Venelin ; to the health of the Bulgarian King Kruma, 
 Chuma, or Chroma, who lived somewhere in the 
 Adamic period, as he informed the company. 
 
 " In the ninth century, " quietly observed Insaroff. 
 
 " In the ninth century ! " exclaimed Shoubine. 
 " Happy fate ! " 
 
 Bersieneff noticed that amidst all his pranks, sal 
 lies, and jokes, Shoubine was attentively observing In 
 saroff as if he would probe and examine him thorough 
 ly : but as for Insaroff, he preserved from first to last 
 the same quiet and equable demeanor. 
 
 At last they turned homeward, then changed their 
 dress, and, that the day might end as it had begun, 
 resolved to pay a visit to the Stachoffs in the evening ; 
 Shoubine running on before them to announce their 
 arrival. 
 
On the Eve. 85 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE HERO INSAROFF. 
 
 " r I ^HE hero Insaroff is on his way here ! " he tri- 
 
 J- umphantly exclaimed, as he burst into the draw 
 ing-room, where at that moment Ellen and Zoe were 
 sitting alone. 
 
 " Wer?" asked Zoe, in German. Whenever she 
 was taken unawares, Zoe always spoke in her mother- 
 tongue. Ellen drew herself up. Shoubine looked at 
 her with an ironical smile. She was vexed, but did 
 not say a word. 
 
 " You heard," he repeated, " Mr. Insaroff will be 
 here directly." 
 
 " I heard," she answered, " and heard how you 
 called him. I am surprised at your folly. Mr. Insa 
 roff has not yet set foot in our house, but you must 
 needs make him your butt." 
 
 Shoubine at once became serious. 
 
 " You are right, you are always right, Ellen Nich- 
 olaevna," he said ; " but it is only my way. We have 
 been walking with him the whole day, and, I assure 
 you, he is an excellent fellow." 
 
86 On the Eve. 
 
 " I have never asked you what kind of man he is," 
 answered Ellen, as she rose from her seat. 
 
 " Is Mr. Insaroff young ? " asked Zoe. 
 
 " Just turned one hundred and forty years," an 
 swered Shoubine, in a mocking tone. 
 
 A servant announced the arrival of the two friends. 
 They came in, and Bersieneff introduced Insaroff. 
 Ellen asked them to take a seat, and sat down her 
 self; but Zoe left the room to go up-stairs and tell 
 Anne Vasilievna that visitors were come. A conver 
 sation was commenced, and, like all first conversa 
 tions, it turned on trivial matters. Shoubine watch 
 ed the others from his corner, but what he saw was 
 not very satisfactory. In Ellen he could not but re 
 mark a feeling of ill-suppressed displeasure towards 
 himself. As he glanced at Bersieneff and Insaroff, he, 
 like a true sculptor, compared their faces. He found 
 that neither was actually handsome ; the face of the 
 Bulgarian was strongly marked, and admirably suited 
 for a statue, especially when, as then, it was animated 
 and bright ; whereas the face of the Russian was fit 
 ter subject for the painter, it had no well-defined lines, 
 but great expression : and he was obliged to confess 
 that one or the other was alike capable of inspiring 
 love. She was not yet in love with either, but it 
 would be with Bersieneff: this he quite settled in his 
 own mind. Anne Vasilievna now came into the draw 
 ing-room, and the conversation at once took a coun 
 try-lodging tone, eminently a country-lodging, as 
 
On the Eve. 87 
 
 distinguished from a bona fide country, tone. The 
 subjects of conversation were excessively varied, but 
 short awkward pauses brought it to a stop every three 
 minutes. During one of these pauses Anne Vasili- 
 evna gave Zoe a look. Shoubine understood what 
 the look meant, and made a wry mouth ; but Zoe sat 
 down to the piano, and played and sang through all 
 her pieces. Urban Ivanovitch half opened the door; 
 but, seeing that visitors were there, played hopelessly 
 with his fingers, and quickly withdrew. Then tea was 
 served, and after tea the whole company adjourned 
 to the garden, where they strolled and chatted till it 
 grew dark, when the guests departed. 
 
 Ellen was not so much struck with Insaroff as she 
 had expected, or, to speak more accurately, he pro 
 duced on her an impression different from that which 
 she had anticipated. His straight-forwardness and 
 simple manners pleased her, and she was not less at 
 tracted by his general appearance : but the whole 
 bearing of Insaroff, which had a quiet heaviness and 
 every- day commonness about it, was different from 
 the fancy piciure she had drawn of him after her 
 conversation with Bersieneff. She had unconsciously 
 expected to find in him something of the " gloomy " 
 type. But, she thought to herself, it is true that he 
 spoke very little to-day, and I am to blame for not 
 having put him more at his ease ; perhaps, another 
 time but his eyes are expressive, they are honest 
 eyes.X, Much to her dissatisfaction, she felt that she 
 
88 On the Eve. 
 
 could pay him no homage ; she could be friendly with 
 him, and that was all ; for he was not what she had 
 fancied people like Insaroff must be : he was no 
 " hero." And this word reminded her of what Shou- 
 bine had said, and she at once grew red and angry. 
 
 "How do you like your new acquaintances?" 
 Bersieneff asked Insaroff on their road homewards. 
 
 " They pleased me very much," Insaroff replied, 
 " particularly the daughter. She must be an excel 
 lent creature ; rather enthusiastic, but it is an honest 
 enthusiasm." 
 
 " Yo .i must go and see them oftener," said Ber 
 sieneff. 
 
 " Certainly we must," observed Insaroff: and noth 
 ing more was said during their walk home. He at 
 once shut himself up in his room, but through the 
 window could be seen the light of a candle burning 
 late into the night. 
 
 Bersieneff had not read a page of Raumer when a 
 handful of sand thrown against his window suddenly 
 aroused him from his studies. He involuntarily gave 
 a start, opened the window, and beheld Shoubine 
 pale as a sheet. 
 
 " Ah ! you restless spirit ! you bird of the night ! " 
 began Bersieneff. 
 
 " Hush ! " interrupted Shoubine ; " I have come 
 to you stealthily, like Max to Agatha. I have two 
 words to say to you in secret." 
 
 " All right ; come into the room." 
 
On the Eve. 89 
 
 " No, that is not necessary," answered Shoubine, 
 leaning on the window-sill : " this way is more lively, 
 quite like Spain. And first I congratulate you ; your 
 shares have gone up. Your much bepraised extraor 
 dinary man has fallen through ; that I can guarantee. 
 And to show you how impartial I am in the matter, 
 here is a precise catalogue of the moral and intellect 
 ual qualities of Mr. Insaroff: Talents, none at all; 
 poetry, deuced little ; capacity for hard work, enorm 
 ous ; memory, almost as enormous; mind, neither 
 discursive nor deep, but healthy and quick ; speech, 
 dry, energetic, and even eloquent when he gets upon 
 his between ourselves we may say stupid Bulgaria. 
 What do you say ? am I not right ? But further, you 
 will never be on such a footing with him as to say t/iou, 
 and no one ever was : I, of course, as artist, can be 
 no favorite of his, and I am proud that I cannot. 
 Cold-hearted, cold-hearted, and capable of grinding 
 us all to powder! He is attached to his country; not 
 like our empty-heads who merely flatter the common 
 people; but he tries to unite the whole nation in one 
 common work. Thus his task is both more easy and 
 more intelligible ; to drive out the Turks, that is all, 
 that is the work to which he dedicates himself. But, 
 thank God, all these fine qualities do not take with 
 women. There is nothing attractive, no charm about 
 him ; he is not like either of us." 
 
 " Why do you drag me in ? " muttered Bersieneff. 
 " And as to the rest, you are all wrong : you are not in 
 
9O On the Eve. 
 
 the least disliked by him, and with his fellow-country 
 men he is on the most friendly and familiar footing, I 
 know." 
 
 " That is another thing, in their eyes he is a hero, 
 though I confess my ideal hero is quite a different crea 
 ture : a true hero is never eloquent he bellows like 
 an ox, and rushes at you with his horns, makes the very 
 walls tremble and totter. And then he should not 
 know why he is so furious, but simply be furious. 
 However, it may be that our age requires heroes of a 
 different stamp." 
 
 "Why are you so interested in Insaroff?" ask 
 ed Bersieneff. " Have you really come all this way 
 and at this hour merely to describe his character to 
 me?" 
 
 " I came here," began Shoubirie, " because it was 
 intolerable to remain alone at home." 
 
 " Absurd ! you surely do not mean to have another 
 crying fit." 
 
 " You may laugh ! I came here because I am burst 
 ing with envy, vexation, jealousy 
 
 " Jealous of whom ? " 
 
 " You, him, her, everybody. I am maddened with 
 the mere thought that I would have understood her 
 earlier, if I had but acted in a different spirit. But 
 what profits it now to talk ? It has all come to this, 
 that I am only fit to play the fool, to joke and laugh, 
 as she herself has told me : far better let me go and 
 hang myself." 
 
On the ETC. gt 
 
 " You had better not try, because you will not suc 
 ceed," observed Bersieneff. 
 
 " Of course not on such a night as this ; I am only 
 waiting till the autumn. Though people do die even 
 on nights like this, but then it is from excess of happi 
 ness. Ah, happiness ! There is not a shadow that falls 
 across the road from the trees, but it seems to whisper, 
 I know where happiness is to be found. Shall I tell 
 thee ? I would ask you to come and have a walk, but 
 you are just now so stupidly prosaic. Better go to 
 bed, and in your dreams have glorious visions of 
 mathematical figures ! As for me, my heart is breaking. 
 You think all is well with a man merely because he 
 jokes ; you fancy a man can t surfer merely because he 
 talks absurdly. Well, God be with you ! " 
 
 Shoubine turned himself away from the window. 
 For a moment Bersieneff was tempted to cry " An 
 nette ! " after him, but there was a something in Shou- 
 bine s look that restrained him. A few minutes later 
 and a strange melancholy came over Bersieneff; he 
 rose up and opened the window ; all outside was still, 
 save that now and then could be heard from the dis 
 tance the drawling voice of some peasant, singing as 
 he trudged along beside his cart. 
 
92 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 DISAPPEARANCE. 
 
 DURING the first two weeks after InsarofTs arrival 
 in the village of Kontsoff, he did not pay more 
 than three or four visits to the Stachoffs, though Ber- 
 sieneff was wont to call upon them at least every other 
 day. Ellen was always glad to see him and they in 
 variably chatted together in a lively and animated 
 manner ; but he not seldom returned home from these 
 interviews in a low and dejected mood. Shoubine was 
 now rarely to be seen ; a feverish fit of industry had 
 come over him, and he would shut himself up in his 
 room, leaving it only for a minute or so, and then all 
 besmeared with plaster ; or else go for a few days to 
 Moscow, where he had a studio, and pass his time in 
 the company of pretty models and Italian sculptors, 
 his friends and teachers. Not once had Ellen spoken 
 with Insaroff as she wished to speak : in his absence 
 she could prepare questions about much she longed to" 
 ask him ; but when he came, the consciousness of their 
 having been prepared prevented her putting them. 
 There was a quietness about Insaroff which intimi 
 dated her j it seemed to her that she had no right to 
 
On the Eve. 93 
 
 try and make him speak, and resolved to wait ; and 
 yet she felt that, however trivial might be the words 
 exchanged between them, each time she saw him he 
 attracted her more and more : but they had not hap 
 pened once to be left alone, and to become intimate 
 with a man it is necessary, if but once, to speak with 
 him when none are by to shame his confidence. She 
 often spoke of him to Bersieneff. The latter per 
 ceived that Insaroff had produced a favorable impres 
 sion on Ellen, and was glad that, contrary to Shou- 
 bine s assertion, his friend had not " fallen through ; " 
 he related to her, down to the most trivial details, all 
 he knew of his history ; very often when we wish to 
 please another we talk at length and with enthusiasm 
 of some one of our friends, never suspecting that all 
 the while we are but praising ourselves ; and an un 
 easy feeling of pain filled his breast when he remarked 
 how the pale cheeks of Ellen were suffused with a flush, 
 and how Her eyes sparkled with eager interest, as she 
 listened to his story. 
 
 One morning Bersieneff came Lo the Stachoffs at 
 a much earlier hour than usual, and soon after his ar 
 rival Ellen made her appearance in the drawing-room. 
 
 " Only fancy," he began with a forced smile, " our 
 friend Insaroff has disappeared." 
 
 " How disappeared ? " asked Ellen. 
 
 " Disappeared completely : the day before yester 
 day he left the house in the evening, and since then 
 has not been seen." 
 
94 On the Eve. 
 
 " Did he not tell you where he was going? " 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 Ellen sank down into a chair. 
 
 " He has probably only gone to Moscow," she mut 
 tered trying to look indifferent, and at the same time 
 surprised at herself that she should be thus trying to 
 assume a tone of indifference. 
 
 " I do not think so," observed Bersieneff. " He 
 did not go alone." 
 
 " With whom, then ? " 
 
 " Two men called upon him the day before yester 
 day, just before dinner ; I do not know who they were, 
 but they must have been compatriots of his." 
 
 " Bulgarians ? What makes you think so ? " 
 
 " Because, so far as I could catch anything of their 
 conversation, they spoke with him in a dialect unknown 
 to me, but it certainly was Slavonic. You know your 
 self, Ellen Nicholaevna, that ordinarily there is nothing 
 concealed about InsarorT; then why such a mystery 
 about this visit of theirs ? You see, they came to him, 
 and began vociferating and quarrelling, like a set of 
 angry savages, he too crying out as loud as either of 
 the two." 
 
 "He too?" 
 
 " Yes, he too. He bawled at them, and they 
 seemed to be bitterly reproaching one another. And 
 if you only could have seen these gentlemen ! with 
 their swarthy visages, long hair, beak noses, shabby 
 clothes, covered with dust and grease ; seemingly 
 
On the Eve. 95 
 
 tradesmen, and yet they were no more tradesmen than 
 gentlemen God knows who they were ! " 
 
 " And he went away with them ? " 
 
 " Just so ; gave them something to eat, and then 
 went off with them. The landlady told me that those 
 two alone ate up a large potful of porridge. She de 
 clares it was a race between them which could gulp 
 it down the fastest, as they gobbled it up like a couple 
 of wolves." 
 
 " You see," she said faintly smiling, " after all, this 
 grand mystery is a very common and prosaic event." 
 
 " God grant it be so ! Though you are wrong to 
 use the word prosaic. In Insaroff there is nothing 
 prosaic, notwithstanding that Shoubine declares " 
 
 " Shoubine ! " interrupted Ellen, with a shrug of 
 her shoulders ; " but still you must confess that these 
 two men swallowing and choking over their por 
 ridge " 
 
 " But Themistocles ate on the eve of Salamis," 
 laughingly interrupted Bersieneff. 
 
 "True, but on the next day the battle did take 
 place. At any rate, you will let me know when he re 
 turns," Ellen said, and then tried to change the sub 
 ject; but their conversation was interrupted by Zoe, 
 who came into the room on tiptoe, thereby giving 
 them to understand that Anne Vasilievna had not yet 
 awakened from her nap. A minute later, Bersieneff 
 took his departure. 
 
 On the evening of the same day she received the 
 
96 On the Eve. 
 
 following note from him : " He has come back, hot 
 and dusty up to the brows ; but why he left, or where 
 he went to, I do not know probably you do." 
 
 "Probably I do/ Ellen repeated to herself; " as 
 if he would take me into his confidence ! " 
 
On the Eve. 97 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 INSAROFF S INTERVIEW WITH ELLEN. 
 
 ON the next day, in the afternoon, about two 
 o clock, Ellen was standing in the garden before 
 a small kennel, feeding her two pet dogs. The gar 
 dener had found them one evening under a hedge, 
 and had brought them to the young lady, at the ad 
 vice of the laundress, who assured him that her mis 
 tress would be only glad to keep them. Nor was he 
 wrong in his reckoning, but got a shilling for his hu 
 manity. Ellen was looking into the kennel to con 
 vince herself that her young pets were alive and well, 
 and that their straw was fresh and dry, when she 
 started back with a cry of surprise on perceiving In- 
 saroff, who was coming towards her along the path 
 that led from the house. 
 
 " Good morning/ he said, as he came up to her 
 and took off his cap. She remarked that during the 
 last three days he had become quite sunburnt. " I 
 asked Andrew Petrovitch to accompany me, but he 
 was busy; so I came alone. But I found no one in 
 the house all asleep or out walking so I came to 
 look for you here." 
 7 
 
98 On the Eve. 
 
 " You seem to be excusing yourself," answered 
 Ellen; "there is no occasion for that. We are al 
 ways very glad to *see you. Let us sit down on that 
 bench there, in the shade." 
 
 She sat down, and Insaroff took a seat by her 
 side. 
 
 " You have not been at home these few days, I 
 think ? " she began. 
 
 " No, I have been away," he replied : " Andrew 
 Petrovitch told you ? " 
 
 There was a twinkle in his eye, and a slight pout 
 ing outwards of the lip, whenever he smiled, which 
 gave a pleasing expression to his countenance. 
 
 " Andrew Petrovitch most probably told you also 
 that I went away with some not the most polished 
 of men," he continued, still smiling. 
 
 Ellen was slightly confused, but instinctively felt 
 that with Insaroff it was better to speak the truth. 
 
 " Just so," she said unhesitatingly. 
 
 " And what did you think of me ? " he asked ab 
 ruptly. 
 
 " I thought," she replied in a low tone, " I thought 
 that you know best what you should do, and that you 
 would never do anything that was wrong." 
 
 " Thanks for your good opinion. You see, Ellen 
 Nicholaevna," he went on as he drew nearer to her in 
 a friendly manner, u we are but few here, and amongst 
 those few still fewer that are civilized ; but we are all 
 devoted to a common cause. Unhappily quarrels 
 
On the Eve. 
 
 will arise, and I am known 
 that is why I was called away ^j 
 Thank God, I was enabled to 
 
 " Was it far from here ? " 
 
 " About sixty versts* to Trinity borough. Some 
 of our people are settled there. At any rate, I was 
 not disturbed for nothing: the matter is all arranged." 
 
 " But it was difficult for you ? " 
 
 " Yes, very. One of them was so obstinate. He 
 refused for a long time to pay." 
 
 " How ? Was the quarrel about money ? " 
 
 " Yes, and not a small sum either. Why, what 
 did you think it was about ? " 
 
 " And for such a trifle you made a journey of ^ixty 
 versts, and lost three clays ? " 
 
 (j Nothing is a trifle, Ellen Nicholaevna, which con 
 cerns our fellow-countrymen. In such a case to re 
 fuse one s service were a sin) Why, you, I see, do 
 not refuse your succor even to a dog, and I praise 
 you for it. And as to the loss of time, that is no 
 great harm ; I am well rewarded for it. (Qur time does 
 not belong to us. ) 
 
 " To whom, then ? " 
 
 " To all who have need of it. I have told you all 
 this, little as it can interest you, because I prize your 
 good opinior. and I fancy that my departure surprised 
 you." 
 
 * A verst is equal to three-fourths of an English mile. 
 
ioo On the Eve. 
 
 * 
 
 " You value my good opinion," repeated Ellen, in 
 a low voice : " and why ? " 
 
 " Why ? because you are a real lady, and no mis 
 take that is why." 
 
 A short silence ensued. 
 
 " Demetrius Nikanorovitch," said Ellen, " do you 
 know that it is for the first time you are so open with 
 me?" 
 
 " How so ? I thought I had always spoken to you 
 without reserve, exactly what I thought." 
 
 " No, it is for the first time, and I thank you for 
 your frankness : I too wish to be unreserved with you. 
 May I ? " 
 
 " You may," replied InsarofT, laughing. 
 
 " I warn you beforehand, I am very inquisitive." 
 
 " Never mind ; speak on." 
 
 " Andrew Petrovitch has told me much of your 
 past history, of your youth. So it is that I know of 
 one circumstance, one terrible circumstance. I know 
 that after it happened you went home to your own 
 country. Do not answer me, I pray you, if my ques 
 tion is too importunate ; but one thought tortures me. 
 Tell me, did you ever meet with that man " 
 
 Ellen was unable to continue. She was covered 
 with .confusion and shame at her own boldness. In- 
 saroff looked earnestly at her ; but there was a dim 
 ness in his eyes, and a nervous twitching of the 
 mouth, that showed how strong was the emotion he 
 was trying to subdue. 
 
On the Eve. 101 
 
 " Ellen Nicholaevna," he at length replied, and 
 his voice was so low that its very quietness alarmed 
 her, " I understand of what man you spoke just now 
 I never came across him, thank God, thank God ! 1 
 never tried to find him, because I felt I had no right to 
 slay him. I could without the least reproach have 
 killed him ; but there was no room for private re 
 venge when the question was hoiv t9 r.vengc or no, 
 that is not the word how to freo tin entire p <e6ple. 
 The one could only hinder trie pfch^r. biri; ki us ^ocd > 
 time it will come it will com e," he repeated, nodding 
 his head. 
 
 Ellen looked at him askance. "You love your 
 country dearly ? " she asked timidly. 
 
 " As yet I cannot say," he answered. " Only when 
 a man has died for his country can you truly say he 
 loved it." 
 
 " So, had you not the hope one day to return to 
 Bulgaria," resumed Ellen, " you would find Russia in 
 supportable ? " 
 
 " Perhaps," answered InsarofT, with his eyes fixed 
 on the ground, " it were as well not to answer that 
 question." 
 
 " Tell me," Ellen began again, " is it difficult to 
 learn Bulgarian ? " 
 
 " Not in the least. It is a shame for a Russian 
 not to know Bulgarian. A Russian ought to know all 
 the Sclavonic dialects. If you like, I will bring you 
 some Bulgarian books. You will see how easy the 
 
102 On the Eve. 
 
 language is. And then, what songs we have ! equal 
 to the Serbian. Just listen, I will translate one of 
 them to you. It refers to I suppose you know some 
 thing of our history ? " 
 
 " Not a bit ; I know nothing of it," answered Ellen. 
 
 " Well, I will bring you a little book from which 
 you can learn the outlines of our history. But listen 
 to ^the, song^r or, perhaps, it will be better to give you 
 a written translation. I am sure you will love us : 
 .ybirlDv/i all th-u are sufferers. If you only knew what 
 a fertile glorious country ours is ! And all this while 
 those filthy Turks trample it under foot, harass us, 
 rob us of our every possession, our churches, our laws, 
 our lands, our rights, drive us forth like beasts, shoot 
 us like dogs, and " 
 
 " Demetrius Nikanorovitch," cried Ellen. 
 
 He stopped short " Pardon me. I cannot speak 
 of it coldly. You yourself but just now asked me 
 whether I loved my country. What else on earth is 
 there worth loving? What else is there that never 
 changes, of which you never doubt, in which, next to 
 God, you never cease to believe ? And when she, your 
 own country, has need of you note well, the veriest 
 peasant, the lowest beggar in Bulgaria, not one whit 
 less than I myself, awaits one and the same thing; 
 we have all but one and the same end in view and 
 think what strength, what assurance, this unity of aim 
 must give us ! " . 
 
 Insaroff was silent for a moment, and then began 
 
On the Eve. 103 
 
 again to speak of Bulgaria. Ellen listened with a 
 deep and lively but saddened interest. When he had 
 finished, she once more asked him, " And so for noth 
 ing in the world would you remain in Russia ?" 
 
 When he left her, she looked after him long and 
 thoughtfully. That conversation had made him in 
 her eyes another man from what he was but two short 
 hours before. 
 
 From that day his visits to the Stachoffs grew more 
 and more frequent, but Bersieneff came much sel- 
 domer than formerly. Between the two friends there 
 rose up a strange and undefined feeling of aversion, 
 which both felt acutely, but which neither cared to 
 explain. And thus passed a whole month. 
 
104 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE PICNIC. 
 
 ANNE VASILIEVNA, as the reader already 
 knows, generally liked to shut herself up at 
 home ; but now and then, when least expected, she 
 would be seized with an overwhelming desire to do 
 something out of the way, arrange some extraordinary 
 partie de plaisir ; and the more difficult it was to get up 
 this same partie de plaisir, the more trouble involved 
 in its preparation, and the more perplexity and excite 
 ment it caused her, the better she was pleased. Did 
 the freak come upon her in the winter, she invariably 
 engaged two or three adjoining boxes, sent out half a 
 dozen invitations, and went in a party to the theatre, 
 or, better still, to a masquerade : if it were summer 
 time, she contented herself with a picnic. Of course, 
 on the morrow she was laid up, with a terrible head 
 ache, and kept her bed for a week ; but two months 
 would not pass before she was again busily arranging 
 a fresh partie. It was so now. Some one had spoken 
 to her of the beautiful view at Czaritchina, and at once 
 Anne Vasilievna fixed the day for a picnic to that 
 place. The whole house was thrown into a state of 
 
On the Eve. 105 
 
 worry and confusion ; a courier was despatched to 
 Moscow to beg Nicholas Artemvitch to return imme 
 diately ; the steward was hurried off to purchase the 
 wine, patties, and other necessary comestibles ; Shou- 
 bine was requested to engage the stage-coach, the Sta- 
 choffs carriage being too small, and to see that a relay 
 of horses was kept in readiness ; Bersieneff and In- 
 sarorT received two separate invitations written in 
 French and in Russian by the fair Zoe ; whilst Anne 
 Vasilievna herself undertook to prepare the ladies 
 dresses. In the meanwhile the partie de plaisir very 
 nearly came to grief: Nicholas Artemvitch arrived 
 from Moscow in a sadly fretful and cross humor 
 something had evidently put him out at Augustina s 
 and when told of the plan, positively refused to go ; 
 that to be jolted first from KoontsorTto Moscow, then 
 from Moscow to Czaritchina, and afterward from Czar- 
 itchina to Moscow, and again from Moscow to Koon- 
 tsoff, was absurd ; and further declared that he would 
 only go on condition that they first proved to him that 
 it would be more lively to be thus shaken to pieces 
 than to stay quietly at home. On this point no one 
 could satisfy him, and in despair of securing a trusty 
 cavalier, Anne Vasilievna was on the point of giving 
 up the expedition, when she suddenly thought of Ur 
 ban Ivanovitch ; but though she invited him to join the 
 party, she confessed to herself that she was but acting 
 like the drowning man who clutched at a straw. So 
 a servant was sent to awake him ; after some time he 
 
io6 On the Eve. 
 
 made his appearance, heard all that Anne Vasihevna 
 had to say, played nervously with his fingers, and 
 finally, to the astonishment of everybody, consented 
 to go. Anne Vasilievna kissed him rapturously on 
 the cheek, and called him " a dear ; " Nicholas Ar- 
 temvitch smiled sarcastically, and muttered "quell 
 bourde ! " he was very fond of occasionally using 
 French slang and on the following morning, at seven 
 o clock, the carriage and stage-coach, laden well with 
 hampers and baskets, drew up at the gates of the Sta- 
 choffs house. The carriage was occupied by the 
 ladies, the housemaid, and Bersieneff, Insaroff having 
 perched himself on the box. Urban Ivanovitch, the 
 steward, and Shoubine rode in the coach. Urban 
 Ivanovitch had himself, by a mysterious pantomime of 
 his fingers, invited Shoubine to sit next to him, think 
 ing that he would serve to amuse him on the road, 
 for the fat civilian and the young sculptor were fast 
 friends, but on that occasion Shoubine left his fat 
 friend in peace, and was strangely silent and dis 
 tracted. 
 
 The sun had already risen high in a perfectly 
 cloudless sky when the carriages rattled up to the ruins 
 of the castle of Czaritchina, which looked gloomy 
 and threatening even in the clear noonday. The 
 whole company dismounted, and began strolling in 
 the gardens. Ellen and Zoe went in front with Insa 
 roff, followed by Anne Vasilievna, leaning on Urban s 
 arm, and evidently satisfied with the success of her 
 
On the Eve. 107 
 
 picnic. He puffed and fumed with the unusual exer 
 tion of walking ; his new straw hat chafed his forehead, 
 and his feet were terribly pinched in his new tight 
 boots ; but for all that he was in an excellent humor. 
 Shoubine and Bersieneff brought up the procession. 
 " My dear fellow, we are the reserve, mere veterans," 
 Shoubine whispered to him : " the Bulgarian is there 
 now ; " and he pointed to Ellen, who was at the mo 
 ment talking with Insaroff. 
 
 The weather was lovely. Surrounded by gay flow 
 ers, the noise of buzzing insects, the song of birds, 
 and the soft rippling of a stream in the distance, the 
 soul was filled with a sense of joyous freedom. " How 
 beautiful ! how beautiful ! " was Anne Vasilievna s 
 constant cry, and Urban Ivanovitch graciously bent 
 his head in confirmation of her enthusiastic exclama 
 tions ; once even he murmured the words, " Of course 
 it is beautiful." Ellen now and then exchanged a 
 word with Insaroff: Zoe, whilst shading her face with 
 the flap of her large, round straw hat, took care to 
 show from beneath her rose-colored barege dre^s a 
 pair of pretty little feet, and was constantly turning 
 round to give coquettish glances at those who were 
 walking behind her. 
 
 " Ah ! " Shoubine suddenly exclaimed in a low 
 voice, " it is not for nothing that Zoe looks round so 
 often. I shall go and join her. Just now Ellen Nicho- 
 laevna despises me, and esteems you, my dear An 
 drew, most highly ; but I don t see much difference 
 
io8 On the Eve. 
 
 between her contempt and her esteem. I shall go 
 it is awfully dull. As for you, my good friend, I ad 
 vise you to do a little botany ; in your present condi 
 tion of mind it is the best remedy I can propose : it 
 is at once consoling and highly profitable. So, good 
 bye." 
 
 Shoubine ran up to Zoe, and putting a biscuit into 
 her hand, and saying, " Ihre hand^ Madame" gave 
 her his arm, and walked on by her side. Ellen too 
 stopped for a minute, and took hold of Bersieneff s 
 arm, but continued talking with Insaroff. She was 
 asking him what the Bulgarian was for oak and some 
 other words. " Nothing but Bulgaria ! " thought poor 
 Andrew to himself. 
 
 Suddenly a cry was heard in front ; all looked up, 
 and Shoubine s cigar case was seen flying in the air, 
 having been hit out of his hand by the lively Zoe. 
 " Just wait a moment, I ll pay you out," he exclaimed, 
 leaping into the bush where it had fallen : but scarce 
 ly had he returned with it in his hand before it was 
 seen flying a second t m2 across the road. This was 
 repeated some four or five times ; he half-laughing, 
 half threatening ; Zoe grimacing and giggling as, with 
 the agility of a cat, she wriggled from his grasp. At 
 last he succeeded in seizing hold of her fingers, and 
 giving them such a squeeze that she shrieked with 
 pain, and for a long time she continued blowing on 
 her hand, evidently angry at his violence. But he 
 
On the Eve. 109 
 
 whispered something in her ear, and peace was ap 
 parently restored. 
 
 " Children ! What it is to be young ! " gayly ob 
 served Anne Vasilievna to Urban Ivanovitch, who at 
 once began playing with his fingers. 
 
 " What a girl that Zoe is ! " said Bersieneff to 
 Ellen. 
 
 " And Shoubine ? " was her answer. 
 
 In the meantime the whole party entered the fa 
 mous arbor, known as Belle Vue, and stayed there a 
 long time enjoying the view of the Czaritchina lakes. 
 For miles lake succeeds lake, and beyond the last of 
 the series stretches a thick, dense forest. The swarm 
 of gnats that literally covered the hill rising up from 
 the side of the principal lake was so great that they 
 gave to its waters a strange greenish, emerald tint. 
 Everywhere, even close to the bank, the stream was 
 swollen and covered with foam ; its calmest ripples 
 flowed unequally and restlessly. As in some massive 
 but clear mirror the sky was reflected in the spacious 
 lake, and the rustling trees bent over and peered 
 downward in its transparent depths. All gazed on 
 the scene long and silently ; even Shoubine was quiet, 
 and even Zoe was thoughtful. At last they all ex 
 pressed a wish to go on the water. Shoubine, Insa- 
 roff, and Bersieneff immediately raced off to see who 
 could first find a boat. Before long they found a large 
 gorgeously painted one, hired a couple of oarsmen, 
 and summoned the ladies, who immediately joined 
 
no On the Eve. 
 
 them, and were followed by Urban Ivanovitch puffing 
 and blowing in his eagerness to keep up with them. 
 There was a good deal of laughter as he got into the 
 boat and seated himself. 
 
 u Look out, sir, don t upset us," cried one of the 
 boatmen, a young snub-nosed lad dressed in a striped 
 shirt. 
 
 " Be quiet, you rogue, be quiet," answered Urban 
 good-humoredly. 
 
 The young people would have liked to row, but 
 Insaroff was the only one who knew how to handle an 
 oar. Shoubine proposed to sing in chorus some 
 Russian song, and himself struck up with, " She gazed 
 down the river." Bersieneff, Zoe, and even Anne Vas- 
 ilievna joined in Insaroff could not sing but they 
 did not keep together in tune, and at the third verse 
 they were obliged to break off. The boatmen winked 
 at one another, and silently grinned. 
 
 " Well," cried Shoubine, turning to them, " do you 
 think gentlefolks can t sing if they like ? " 
 
 The lad in the striped shirt only shook his head. 
 
 " Well Impudence," continued Shoubine, " we ll 
 just show you what we can do. Zoe, sing us Inder- 
 meyer s Le lac^ and you, stop rowing, will you ? " 
 
 The oars were thrown up in the air like feathers, 
 from which drops of water fell sharply on the surface 
 of the lake, the boat continued to move for awhile, al 
 most veered round, and then stood still like a swan. 
 Zoe at first refused. " Allans? said Anne Vasilievna, 
 
On the Eve. in 
 
 coaxingly ; and then Zoe, taking off her straw hat, 
 began to sing, " O lac, ranneeapeine a fini sa carriere" 
 Her voice, weak but pure in tone, glanced as it were 
 along the surface of the waters, and in the distant 
 forest every word was echoed as though there, too, 
 was singing some mysterious voice of heaven, not of 
 earth. Zoe had scarcely finished when an uproarious 
 " brava ! " burst forth from behind one of the copses 
 on the bank, and out of it ran a party of Germans, 
 whose red faces showed plainly enough that they 
 were " making a day of it " at Czaritchina. Some of 
 them were without coats, others without waistcoats ; 
 and so loud were the cries of " bis" that Anne Vasil- 
 ievna ordered the boatmen to row as quickly as pos 
 sible to the other end of the lake. But before they 
 reached the shore Urban Ivanovitch once more suc 
 ceeded in astonishing his friends. Having remarked 
 that in a certain part of the forest there was an un 
 usually clear and loud echo, he all at once began 
 imitating the cry of a quail. His first attempt startled 
 them all, but they soon begged him to repeat the cry, 
 which he imitated with great success. This encour 
 aged him to try to mew like a cat ; but not doing this 
 so well, he took to imitating the quails cry again, and 
 then with a proud glance at his admiring audience 
 sank into silence. Shoubine threw himself forward 
 to embrace him, but Urban pushed him back. At 
 this moment the boat touched the shore, and they all 
 got out, and began strolling in the wood. 
 
H2 On the Eve. 
 
 Meanwhile the coachman, lacicey, and chamber 
 maid were busy in dragging the baskets out of the 
 carriage, and preparing a dinner beneath some old 
 lime trees. When all was ready, they sat down round 
 a table-cloth that had been spread on the grass, and 
 did full justice to the pastry and other eatables before 
 them. For they all had excellent appetites ; and 
 Anne Vasilievna, whilst eating heartily herself, kept 
 on inviting her guests to follow her example, and as 
 sured them that to eat heartily in the open air was 
 very healthy. She even thought it necessary to im 
 press this truth on Urban Ivanovitch. "Do not fear," 
 was his invariable answer, though each time he spoke 
 his mouth happened to be so full that his replies 
 were somewhat indistinct. " How fortunate we are in 
 having such glorious weather ! " she was also con 
 stantly exclaiming. She was another being from what 
 she was at home, and seemed to have grown twenty 
 years younger. In fact Bersieneff told her so. " Yes, 
 yes," she replied, " I was worth looking at in my time, 
 and out of any ten among them all, you would have 
 chosen me." Shoubine lolled next to Zoe, and every 
 few minutes was pouring her out wine, which she re 
 fused, in spite of his entreaties; and it generally end 
 ed in his drinking off the glass himself, and immedi 
 ately filling up another for her : he also swore to her, 
 that, could he but lie there with his head resting on 
 her knees, he should dream that he was in paradise 
 itself; but she told him that she would never allow 
 
On the Eve. 113 
 
 him to take any such liberties. Ellen seemed to be 
 more serious than the others, though her heart was 
 far more at rest than it had been for many a day. 
 She was filled with a feeling of sympathy and gentle 
 ness, but she did not care to have any one near her, 
 save Insftroff, and perhaps Bersieneff. Andrew Pe- 
 trovitch tried to read her thoughts, but in vain, and 
 was tormented with something like envy and discon 
 tent. 
 
 The time flew on, and evening had already ap 
 proached. Anne Vasilievna suddenly observed this. 
 " Ah, bdtoushkt? how late it is ! " she exclaimed : 
 " drink up the wine, and wipe your beards ; it is time 
 to go home." So they began busily packing up the 
 things, and then set off for the castle, where the car 
 nages were waiting. As they passed the lakes, they 
 stopped to admire for a last time the beautiful scenery. 
 All the heavens were dyed with the clear evening 
 red ; the sky was fantastically streaked with fleecy 
 clouds ; the leaves of the trees rustled slightly under 
 the soft movement of the gentle breeze ; the rays of 
 the setting sun were reflected in the liquid gold of the 
 troubled stream ; and the shell caves and quaint 
 grottoes that dotted the garden stood out clearly from 
 the dark -gr. en foliage of the trees. 
 
 * Batoushke, the plural of batoushka, father : a term of famil 
 iarity constantly used in ordinary conversation, and correspond 
 ing to our " dear fellow." 
 
H4 On the Eve. 
 
 " Adieu, dear Czaritchina ! we shall not forget to 
 day s trip," exclaimed Anne Vasilievna. But at this 
 moment there happened something so strange and so 
 unexpected, that the visit to Czaritchina was not 
 likely to be ever forgotten. 
 
 This was what happened. Anne Vasilievna had 
 scarcely bidden adieu to Czaritchina, when, a few 
 steps in front of her, from behind a tall lilac bush, 
 there burst forth loud exclamations, shrieks, and cries ; 
 and the whole company of gallants, the same enthusi 
 astic amateurs who had lately so warmly applauded 
 Zoe, stopped up the road before them. They were 
 all evidently in a very merry mood. They stood for a 
 moment dumbfounded at the sight of the ladies ; but 
 one of them, with a bull-neck, flaring ox-like eyes, and 
 immense stature, stepped forward, and with an awk 
 ward ill-bred bow came close up to Anne Vasilievna. 
 
 " Bon jour, Madame" he said in a hoarse gruff 
 voice ; " comment vous portez-vous ? " 
 
 Anne Vasilievna in evident alarm drew back. 
 
 " And why," continued the Hercules in very bad 
 Russian, " did you not favor us with an encore when 
 we shouted out bis and brava ? " 
 
 " Ah ! why, why ? " cried out the rest of the com 
 pany. 
 
 Insaroff had gone on in front ; but Shoubine, who 
 was always with Zoe, hurried up to protect Anne 
 Vasilievna. 
 
 " Illustrious stranger ! " he began, " allow me to 
 
On the Eve. 115 
 
 express to you the unfeigned astonishment your con 
 duct has caused us. As far fc as I can judge, you be 
 long to the Saxon branch of the Caucasian family : 
 consequently we have a right to infer your acquaint 
 ance with the customs of society, and yet you enter 
 into conversation with a lady to whom you have never 
 been introduced. Believe me, under other circum 
 stances, I should be charmed to become more closely 
 acquainted with you, for I remark in you such an ex 
 traordinary development of muscles, biceps, triceps, 
 and deltoides, that, in my capacity of sculptor, I should 
 consider it a rare piece of good fortune to have you 
 for a model. But as it is, I must ask you to leave us 
 in peace." 
 
 The " illustrious stranger " listened to Shoubine s 
 speech with his head lolling on one side, and his 
 hands clasped behind him. 
 
 " I don t in the least understand how you dare to 
 speak so," he muttered after a pause. " Perhaps you. 
 think I am a shoemaker, or watchmaker, or something 
 of that sort. Let me tell you I am an officer in the 
 service." 
 
 " I don t dispute that at all, but " began Shou- 
 
 bine. 
 
 " And this is what I say," continued the unknown, 
 pushing him aside with his wrinkled hand, as one would 
 a branch from the road, " I ask why didn t you sing 
 again when we cried, bis ? And now I ll go directly, this 
 minute, if only this young lady not she, that is not 
 
n6 On the Eve. 
 
 necessary, but either this one or the other (pointing 
 to Ellen and Zoe) will first give me einen kuss, as we 
 say in German, a kiss. Well, what do you say ? " 
 
 "Ah, what do you say?" einen kiiss ; come on," 
 his companions cried out in chorus. " Ach ! Sakra- 
 menter ! " exclaimed one who seemed to be further 
 gone than the rest. 
 
 Zoe clutched Insaroff s hand ; but he, gently loos 
 ening her grasp, came close up to the insolent Her 
 cules. 
 
 " Be so good as to go away," he said in a low but 
 decided tone. 
 
 The German burst into a hoarse laugh. " Well, I 
 like that. Go away ! And pray, why may I not 
 walk in just what direction I choose ? Why must I go 
 away ? " 
 
 "Because your presence is displeasing to these 
 ladies," answered Insaroff, quietly as before, " and 
 because you are drunk." 
 
 " What ? I drunk ! You hear that ! Horen Sic das, 
 Herr Provisor ? He dares to say to me an officer. I 
 demand instant satisfaction ; and, by God, I will have 
 einen kiiss" 
 
 " If you come one step nearer," said Insaroff. 
 
 " Well, what then ? " 
 
 " I will throw you into the lake ! " 
 
 " Into the lake ? Herr Je ! Really ? Well, I con 
 fess, that would be curious into the water; but if " 
 
 The officer raised his hand threateningly, and 
 
On the Eve. 117 
 
 at the same time moved two or three steps forward, 
 when, apparently without any cause, so instantaneous 
 ly did it all happen, he gave a cry, his whole body was 
 lifted high from the ground, his legs were sprawling 
 in the air, and before the ladies knew whether they 
 should scream or not, or any of the company were 
 quite sure what was taking place, our fine officer s 
 bulky form was seen struggling in the lake, and in a 
 minute had sunk under the surface. 
 
 An exclamation of pity burst from the ladies, and 
 a cry of " Mein Gott /" was heard on the other side. 
 
 A moment passed, and a round head, almost hid 
 den in a mass. of wet hair, appeared puffing and blow 
 ing above the water, and two hands convulsively strug 
 gling to catch hold of some support. 
 
 " He will be drowned ! save him, save him ! " 
 shrieked Anne Vasilievna to Insaroff, who was stand 
 ing on the bank, his legs planted wide apart, breath 
 ing heavily. 
 
 " That depends on whether he can swim," he an 
 swered with a contemptuous and cool indifference. 
 " But let us be going," he added, taking her by the 
 hand. " Come on, Urban and Ellen." 
 
 " At that moment the unhappy German, having 
 succeeded in clutching hold of some reeds that grew 
 by the side of the stream, was heard whining and 
 grumbling as he wrung himself dry. 
 
 They all followed Insaroff, and kept close to him 
 as they came to where the Germans were standing. 
 
n8 On the Eve. 
 
 These were evidently dispirited, and casting down 
 their eyes, let them go by without a word ; only one, 
 the bravest of them all, grumbled as he shook his 
 head : " Well, really, this God knows what what 
 may happen when this is allowed to pass unno 
 ticed : " and a second even took off his cap, and sa 
 luted them. Insaroff seemed to them a rather dan 
 gerous character, and in truth there was a baleful 
 and threatening look about him just at that moment. 
 The Germans therefore wisely contented themselves 
 with attending to their unlucky companion, who, as 
 soon as he felt himself to be once more on solid 
 ground, began to declaim in a whining tone against 
 these " Russian blackguards " and to threaten that he 
 would complain to the police, and to his Excellency 
 Count Von Kieseritz himself. 
 
 But the " Russian blackguards " paid no attention 
 to his wrath, and hurried on as quickly as possible to 
 ward the castle. All were silent till they reached the 
 garden, except Anne Vasilievna, who occasionally re 
 lieved herself by an audible sigh. But they had no 
 sooner come up- to the carriages than they stood still, 
 and, like the divine heroes of Homer, were seized one 
 and all with an irresistible and protracted fit of laugh 
 ter. Shoubine was the first to break into a shrill peal, 
 then followed a hoarse laugh from Bersieneff, Zoe next 
 joining in with a kind of hysterical giggle ; the exam 
 ple proved too contagious even for Anne Vasilievna 
 to resist any longer, whilst Ellen was unable to refrain 
 
On the Eve. 119 
 
 from smiling, and Insaroff himself was obliged to un 
 bend and laugh with the rest. But louder, longer, 
 and more noisily than any of them, laughed Urban 
 Ivanovitch ; his huge frame shook, as he laughed, 
 sneezed, and coughed all at one and the same time. 
 And when he recovered, it was only to say, as the 
 tears ran from his eyes, " I was wondering, * What is 
 that noise ? I look round, and there he is, flat, sprawl 
 ing in the water ! " And as he uttered the last words 
 with a sort of convulsive jerk he burst forth into an 
 other gruff shout of laughter. Zoe s perpetual under 
 current of giggling only provoked him the more. 
 " Yes, there were his legs, high up, and then a splash, 
 and he was lying flat, sprawling in the lake ! And 
 weren t they surprised, seeing that he was three times 
 as big as any of the rest ? " he asked Zoe. " But I 
 tell you," he continued, wiping his -eyes, " I saw it all ; 
 it was done beautifully with one hand so on his hip, 
 and his feet firmly set, and then a heave, a splash, 
 and there was the German on his side, gulping and 
 splashing about." 
 
 A considerable portion of the journey homeward 
 had been already made, and Czaritchina Castle was 
 far out of sight, but Urban Ivanovitch continued to be 
 as noisy as ever in his delight at the German s mishap. 
 Shoubine, who was seated with him in the coach, at 
 last succeeded in shaming him into silence. 
 
 Insaroff was evidently ill at ease. He was sitting 
 in the carriage opposite to Ellen, Bersieneff as be- 
 
i2o On the Eve. 
 
 fore occupied the box, and did not speak a word ; 
 she too was equally silent. He imagined that she 
 condemned his conduct, bul in reality she did not 
 condemn him at all. For the first minute she had 
 been alarmed and struck by the strange expression 
 of his face, but now she was reflecting over what had 
 happened. She could form to herself no clear idea 
 of the judgment she had passed on the events. The 
 feeling that had been awakened in her during the day 
 had passed away, but she had no distinct concep 
 tion of the new feeling by which it had been replaced. 
 The partie de plaisir had lasted far too long, and eve 
 ning had imperceptibly given way to night. The 
 carriages rolled on swiftly, now by the side of fast 
 ripening grain fields, where the air was sultry and la 
 den with the stifling fragrance of wheat, and now by 
 the side of some broad meadow, where a light fresh 
 breeze blew on the face. The horizon was, as it were, 
 steeped in a heavy mist. Later, the moon was seen 
 rising dull and red. Anne Vasilievna fell into a half- 
 doze ; Zoe thrust her head out of the window, and 
 looked at the road. At last it occurred to Ellen that 
 for more than an hour she had not spoken to Insa- 
 roff. She turned to him with some trivial question, 
 and he at once brightened up as he eagerly answered 
 her. The air began to be filled with indistinct mut- 
 terings, the sound of a thousand voices talking in the 
 distance, and Moscow came in sight. In front could 
 be caught glimpses of lighted windows, which every 
 
On the Eve. 121 
 
 minute became more and more numerous, and before 
 long the wheels were rattling over a stone road. 
 Anne Vasilievna woke up ; they were all talking, 
 though from the noise of the wheels and the clattei 
 of the thirty-two hoofs of the horses, no one could be 
 quite sure of what was said. The ride from Moscow 
 to Koontsoff was long and dull ; all fell asleep or kept 
 silent, bumping their heads against the corners of the 
 coach; Ellen alone did not close her eyes, but kept 
 them fixed on Insaroff. Shoubine s usual good-humor 
 abandoned him ; the wind blew straight into his eyes, 
 and annoyed him ; he buried his head in his cloak, 
 and consoled himself by grumbling at everything. 
 Urban Ivanovitch was snoring most complacently, as 
 he bobbed to the right and left. At last the carriages 
 pulled up. Two lackeys handed out Anne Vasiliev 
 na ; she was quite worn out with the day s pleasure, 
 and in bidding her friends good-bye informed them 
 that she was " half dead : " and when they began to 
 thank her for the pleasant trip they had had, she only 
 repeated the assurance that she was "half dead." 
 Ellen for the first time gave her hand to Insaroff, and 
 on retiring to her room, before she began undressing, 
 sat long by the window thinking. Shoubine, on leav 
 ing them, whispered in Bersieneff s ear, " Well isn t 
 he a hero ? to throw a drunken German into the lake !" 
 " And you have never done even that," answered 
 Bersieneff, and turned homewards with Insaroff. 
 
 It was already dawn when the two friends reached 
 
122 On the Eve. 
 
 home. The sun had not yet risen, and there was a 
 cold freshness in the air ; a grey dew covered the 
 grass ; and the morning lark was singing high in the 
 sky, half hidden in the dim abyss of heaven, where 
 glittered and sparkled the last lonely star of night. 
 
On the Eve. 
 
 123 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ELLEN S JOURNAL. 
 
 SOON after her acquaintance with InsarofT, Ellen 
 began (for the fifth or sixth time in her life) to 
 keep a journal. The following are some of the en 
 tries which she made : 
 
 June. Andrew Petrovitch has brought me some books, but 
 I cannot read them. I feel ashamed to confess this to him : to 
 return them with a falsehood, and to say I have read them, I will 
 not. I think it would hurt him. He notices everything I say or 
 do. He seems to be greatly attached to me. He is a thoroughly 
 good man, is Andrew Petrovitch. 
 
 What is it I wish ? Why is my heart so heavy and so sad ? 
 Why do I look with longing eyes at the birds as they fly by ? Oh 
 that I could fly away with them, fly, I know not where, but far, 
 far away ! But is it not a sin to wish such a thing ? Here I have 
 a mother, a father, relations. Can it be that I do not love them ? 
 No, I do not love them as I should wish to love them. It is ter 
 rible to make such a confession, but it is true. It may be I am 
 a great sinner ; it may be because I am so unhappy, so ill at ease. 
 Some heavy hand is laid upon me, is strangling me. It is ex 
 actly as if I were in a prison, and there, there, the walls are now 
 closing in around me ! Why is it that others do not feel this ? 
 And whom shall I love, if I am cold to those of my own blood ? 
 
124 / On the Eve. 
 
 y 
 
 I se e, father il right ; he often reproaches me for loving only dogs 
 and cats. I must think well of this. I pray too seldom ; I must 
 pray oftener. And yet, I think I could love ! 
 
 I am still very shy with Mr. Insaroff. I do not know why I 
 am so : I am not so very young, and he is so simple and so good. 
 At times his face has a very serious expression. He is evidently 
 occupied with some important business. I feel this, and am, as 
 it were, ashamed to take up his time. Andrew Petrovitch, that 
 is another thing. With him I can chatter the whole day long. 
 But he too is always speaking to me of Insaroff. And such a 
 strange history ! Last night I saw him in a dream with a dagger 
 in his hand, and I fancied he cried out, " I shall kill thee and 
 mvself." How absurd ! 
 
 Oh ! if some one would but t ell me, This, or that, is what you 
 ought to do ! To be good, that is not enough ; to do good, ah, 
 that is the great thing in life. But how to do good ? If I could 
 but conquer myself ! I do not know why I think so often of Mr. 
 Insaroff. When he comes, and sits down and listens so quietly, 
 never trying to show himself off, and never talking noisily or 
 ridiculously, I look at him, and find it pleasant, but no more : 
 and yet, when he has left, I remember his every word, and am 
 agitated and disturbed, without myself knowing the reason why. 
 He speaks French badly, and is not ashamed of it ; I like him 
 for that. It is true, however, that I always think a great deal 
 over the character and ways of a new acquaintance. When talk 
 ing with him to-day, I suddenly remembered our brother William, 
 who rescued an old cripple from a burning cottage, and was 
 nearly killed himself. Father declared that he was a brave fel 
 low, mamma gave him five roubles, and I felt ready to hug him. 
 And he had such a simple, even stupid expression, and after 
 wards he took to drinking. 
 
On the Eve. \Lf * I2 5 
 
 <&>, 
 
 To-day I gave a penny to a poor beggar- 
 asked me why I was so sad. I had no idea that I looked!; 
 I think it must be because I am alone, quite alone, left to my own 
 thoughts, whether good or bad. I have no real friend. He who 
 would be a friend, I do not require ; and he whom I would have, 
 passes by. 
 
 I do not know what ails me to-day ; I feel distracted, as 
 though I must fall on my knees, and beg and implore for mercy. 
 It is as if some one, I know not who, were murdering me, and my 
 soul sinks within me, I am seized with shudderings, burst into 
 tears, and am unable to calm myself. O my God, give me peace 
 and rest ! Thou alone art able to give me quiet, all else is vain 
 and powerless: neither my little deeds of charity, nor my occu 
 pations, nor anything, nothing save Thou, can aid me. To what 
 end has my youth, my life, been given me ? Why have I a soul ? 
 oh, why is all this ? 
 
 Insaroff, Mr. Insaroff truly, I do not know how to write of 
 him continues to occupy my thoughts. I should like to pene 
 trate to his very soul, to know him really. He seems to be so 
 open, so unreserved, and yet I can decipher nothing. At times 
 he looks at me with such inquiring eyes, or is it merely fancy ? 
 Paul still annoys me more than ever; lam quite angry with him. 
 What is it he wants ? He is in love with me, but I do not need 
 his love. He is in love with Zoe too. I am unjust to him ; he 
 told me yesterday that I can never be unjust by halves : and it is 
 true. Alas ! I feel that one must be unhappy, or poor, or ill, 
 really to know one s self. 
 
 Why did Andrew Petrovitch tell me to-day about those two 
 Bulgarians ? He evidently had some object in telling me it. 
 What have I to clo with Mr. Insaroff s affairs ? I am very vexed 
 with Andrew Petrovitch. 
 
126 On the Eve. 
 
 Though I have taken up the pen, I scarcely know what to 
 write. How unexpected was our conversation in the garden ! 
 What tenderness and truthfulness in his every word ! And how 
 soon it has all come about ! Now we are quite old old friends, 
 each knowing the other thoroughly and without reserve. How 
 is it that I never understood him till now ! How near he has 
 grown to me ! And what is stranger than all, I am beginning to 
 be much more composed. It seems absurd that only yesterday I 
 was angry with Andrew Petrovitch, angry with him too, and 
 called him Mr. Insaroff, and to-day At last I have found a true 
 man ; one in whom I can trust. There is nothing false about 
 him ; he is the first man I have ever come across who is not 
 false ; the rest are all false, false altogether. Andrew Petrovitch, 
 good, kind Andrew Petrovitch, why do I thus insult you ? No ! 
 Andrew Petrovitch may be more learned, wiser : this may be, but 
 he is so little when compared with him. Whenever he speaks of 
 his fatherland, his form becomes fuller, his face wins a strange 
 beauty, and his voice swells into a manlier tone ; then, indeed, 
 there is not a man in the whole world to whom he need yield. 
 And he not only talks, but he acts, and will act. I will ask him 
 How he turned towards me and smiled ! None but brothers 
 smile as he did. I am so happy. The first time he called upon 
 us, I little thought that we should be so intimate. And now I am 
 very glad that I was indifferent at first. Indifferent ! Can it be 
 that I am not indifferent now ? 
 
 It is long, long since I have been so thoroughly at peace as I 
 am now. I am perfectly at peace. Nor have I anything to write. 
 I ste him constantly, that is all. What more need I say ? 
 
 Paul has shut himself up ; Andrew Petrovitch begins to come 
 much seldomer than he did. Poor Andrew ! I sometimes fancy 
 that he but yet, that cannot be. I like talking with Andrew 
 
On the Eve. 127 
 
 Fetrovitch ; never a word about himself, but always about some 
 thing serious, something useful. Not like Shoubine. Shoubine 
 is as gaudy as a butterfly, and is vain of his gaudiness, which is 
 more than butterflies are. Still both Shoubine and Andrew Pe- 
 trovitch well, I know what I mean. 
 
 He likes coming here, that I can see. But why ? What can 
 he find in me ? It is true, we have both the same tastes ; neither 
 of us can bear poetry, and neither of us has the slightest idea of art. 
 But how infinitely greater he is ! He is quiet, and I in perpetual 
 agitation ; he has a work, an aim ; but I, what is my work, where 
 is my goal ? He is quiet, but his mind is ever busy. The time 
 will come when he will leave us forever, and go to his own coun 
 try, far away, beyond the sea. What then ? God grant he may ! 
 I shall always be glad that I knew him whilst he was amongst us. 
 Why is he not a Russian ? No, he never could be that. And 
 mamma likes him : she says he is an excellent young man. Good 
 mamma ! But she does not understand him. Paul is silent ; he 
 understands that I was not pleased with his rude hints ; but he 
 is jealous of him. The silly fellow ! What reason has he ; as 
 if I ever But all this is folly : how could such thoughts come 
 into my head ? 
 
 It seems strange that up to this time, up to my twentieth year, 
 I should never have loved. I think that the reason why D. (I 
 shall name him D. in my journal, I like the name of Demetrius) 
 is so tranquil is because he has devoted his entire self to one 
 work, to the realization of one dream. What can disturb him ? 
 He who gives himself up entirely, entirely, entirely, is superior to 
 all contingencies. It is not / wish, but it wishes. By the way, we 
 both of us like the same flowers. To-day I plucked a rose one 
 of the leaves fell, and he picked it up. I gave him the rose. 
 
 For some time I have had terrible dreams. What do they 
 forebode ? 
 
128 On the Eve. 
 
 D. comes to see us very often. Yesterday he remained the 
 whole evening. He wishes to teach me Bulgarian. I get on 
 with him as if he were one of ourselves. Better than if he were 
 one of ourselves. 
 
 How the days fly ! All is well with me, and yet with my 
 happiness there is at times mingled a feeling of sadness, and, 
 whilst thanking God for His goodness, tears come into my eyes. 
 Oh, warm bright days ! 
 
 All is well with me as before ; only seldom, very seldom, do 
 I feel sad. I am happy. Am I happy ? 
 
 It will be long before I forget our picnic yesterday. What 
 strange, new, terrible impressions ! When he so quickly seized 
 that giant, and hurled him, as though he had been a tiny ball, 
 into the lake, I was not frightened, but he terrified me. And 
 then there was something evil in his expression, something almost 
 cruel. In what a tone he said those words, " Let him swim ! " 
 I felt as if I were estranged from him by those words. But 
 it may be I did not comprehend him. And then, when they all 
 laughed, and when I laughed too, how sorry I felt for him ! I 
 could see that he was ashamed, ashamed because I was there. 
 He told me so afterwards, in the carriage, when it was quite dark 
 and I tried to see his face, but feared to look at him. Yes, one 
 cannot joke with him, it is no playing matter, and he knows how 
 to defend himself. But why that evil look, those trembling lips, 
 that strange, concentrated passion in the eyes ? Or, must it be 
 so with men like him ? Is it impossible to be manly and brave 
 without throwing off much that is tender and gentle ? " Life is 
 rough and cruel," he said to me not long ago. I repeated his 
 words to Andrew Petrovitch, but he did not agree with D. 
 Which of them is right ? And how joyously the day began ! 
 How glad I was to walk by his side, though neither of us said a 
 word ! But I am glad at what happened, seeing how it all ended. 
 
On the Eve. 129 
 
 1 am again restless and disturbed probably, I am not well. 
 
 All these days I have written nothing in my journal ; I did 
 not wish to write anything. I felt that, write what I would, it 
 would be no true reflection of my soul. And what is it that agi 
 tates me so strangely ? I have had a long conversation with 
 him, from which I have leained much. He told me all his plans. 
 By the way, I know now why he has that wound in his neck. 
 Good God ! when I think that he was at death s door, complete 
 ly riddled with wounds, and only rescued with the greatest diffi 
 culty. He anticipates war, and is glad of it. And yet in spite 
 of all this I never saw D. so sad. What is it that can make him 
 so sad ? Papa returned to-day from town, found us sitting to 
 gether, and seemed angry at seeing us together. Andrew Petro- 
 vitch came in the evening ; I fancy he has grown thinner and 
 paler than he was. He was not so friendly with me as usual ; I 
 fear I have been cold with him ; and he suddenly went off to 
 Shoubine s room. I have quite forgotten Shoubine. I will go 
 and see him, and will try to make amends for my neglect. Now 
 I am not angry with him at all, or with anybody in the whole 
 world. Andrew Petrovitch spoke to me in a kind of reproach 
 ful tone. - What does it all mean ? Why is all around me and 
 within me so dark ? It seems as if around me and within me 
 was something enigmatical, something I must solve, and that be 
 fore long. 
 
 I could not sleep last night, my head ached terribly. I can 
 not write. He came to-day quite early, but scarcely stayed at 
 all, and I wished so much to speak with him. He appeared to 
 avoid me. Yes, I could see that he tried to avoid me. 
 
 The enigma is solved; light has broken in upon me. Great 
 God ! be merciful to me. I love him J 
 9 
 
130 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SILENT LOVE. 
 
 ON that same day on which Ellen had written 
 those last tender words in her journal, InsarofT 
 was sitting in BersienefT s room, BersienefT standing 
 by the table with an expression of perplexity in his 
 countenance. Insaroff had just informed him of his 
 intention to return to Moscow the next day. 
 
 " But, my dear fellow," cried Bersieneff, " the fine 
 weather is only now setting in. What in the world 
 will you find to do at Moscow ? " And so sudden ! I 
 hope you have had no bad news ? " 
 
 " I have received no news of any kind," answered 
 Insaroff; " but I am convinced that I ought to stay 
 here no longer." 
 
 " But why can t " 
 
 " Andrew Petrovitch," interrupted Insaroff, " be 
 so kind, I pray you, as no longer to insist on the mat 
 ter. It is painful enough to have to leave you ; but 
 there is nothing to be done." 
 
 Bersieneff looked earnestly at his friend. 
 
 " I know," he said at last, " there is no persuading 
 you. So, it is decided." 
 
On the Eve. 131 
 
 " Quite decided," answered Insaroff, as he got up 
 and left the room. 
 
 For some time Bersieneff remained lost in thought, 
 then took up his hat, and set off towards the Stachoffs. 
 
 " You have something to tell me," Ellen said to 
 him, as soon as they were alone. 
 
 " I have ; but how did you guess it ?" 
 
 " That doesn t matter : but tell me, what is it ?" 
 
 Bersieneff told her of Insaroff s intention. 
 
 Ellen grew visibly pale, and continued silent for a 
 while. 
 
 " What does it mean ?" she asked, but the words 
 were spoken with difficulty. 
 
 " You know," replied Bersieneff, " that Demetrius 
 Nikanorovitch does not like giving an account of his 
 actions. But I think let us sit down, Ellen Nicho- 
 laevna, you are not quite well I think I can guess 
 what is the reason of this sudden departure." 
 
 " But what can be his motive ? what can it be ? " 
 repeated Ellen, as she unconsciously, and with more 
 than a woman s strength, grasped Bersieneff s hand. 
 Her own was icy cold. 
 
 " Well," began Bersieneff, with a sad smile, " how 
 can I best explain to you what I mean ? Let me go 
 back to the spring of this year, to the time when I 
 began to be acquainted with Insaroff. I met him one 
 evening at the house of a relative : this relative had 
 a daughter, an extremely beautiful girl. I fancied 
 
132 On the Eve. 
 
 that Insaroff was struck with her beauty, and told him 
 so. He only laughed, and assured me that I was mis 
 taken, that his heart was as yet untouched, but that 
 he would at once leave the place were anything of 
 the kind to happen, since he was resolved these 
 were his words never to sacrifice his duty and the 
 work of his life to his own personal pleasure and hap 
 piness. I am a Bulgarian, he said, and have no 
 need of the love of a Russian girl. " 
 
 " But what then you " muttered Ellen, as 
 
 she turned aside her head, like a man dreading the 
 fall of some heavy blow ; but all the while keeping a 
 convulsive hold of Bersieneff s hand. 
 
 " I think," said Bersieneff, in a hesitating tone and 
 with his head cast down, " I think, that what I then 
 wrongly guessed to have taken place, has now hap 
 pened." 
 
 " That is you think for God s sake, don t tor 
 ture me any longer ! " Ellen cried with sudden vehe 
 mence. 
 
 " I think," hurriedly continued Bersieneff, " that In 
 saroff loves a Russian girl, and in accordance with 
 his oath is determined to quit us at once." 
 
 Ellen clutched his hand with a still tighter grasp, 
 and bent down her head still lower, as if desirous to 
 hide from another s gaze the blush of shame that sud 
 denly crimsoned all her face and neck. 
 
 " Andrew Petrovitch, you are as good as an 
 angel ! " she said ; and then added in a hesitating 
 
On the Eve. 133 
 
 voice, " but I suppose he will come and bid us good 
 bye." 
 
 " I imagine so ; yes, he is sure to come, since he 
 leaves us against his will." 
 
 " Tell him, tell him " 
 
 But here the unhappy girl broke down, her eyes 
 slowly filled with burning tears, and all pale and trem 
 bling she rushed from the room. 
 
 " How passionately she loves him ! " thought Ber- 
 sienefT, as he made his way slowly homewards. "I 
 had no suspicion of it, never realized that she loved 
 him so passionately. She told me that I was good < 
 good as an angel ! But who shall say what was the feel 
 ing that urged me to reveal it all to Ellen ? There was 
 no virtue in it it was not because I am good. It 
 was nothing but a cursed wish to know all, to be con 
 vinced, even though the conviction should strike me a 
 death-blow. Well, now I may be content: they love 
 one another, and I served to fan their love into a flame. 
 The future mediator between science and the Rus 
 sian public is what Shoubine calls me. And in truth 
 it would seem that my destiny is to be a media 
 tor. But if, after all, I am mistaken ? No, that can 
 not be." 
 
 Andrew Petrovitch felt miserably wretched, and 
 had no heart to sit down to the study of Raumer. 
 
 On the following day, about two o clock, Insaroff 
 came to the Stachoffs . As if on purpose, Anne Vas- 
 ilievna was engaged at that hour with a visitor, the 
 
134 On the Eve. 
 
 wife of a neighboring priest, a very excellent and 
 worthy woman, but in constant hot water with the po 
 lice, owing to her persistent obstinacy in bathing, in 
 the very middle of the day, in a pond by the side of 
 a road, along which a certain important general s fam 
 ily frequently passed. In the first impulse of the mo 
 ment Ellen, whose face became perfectly bloodless the 
 instant she heard Insaroff s footstep,was inclined to be 
 glad at the presence of a stranger ; but then her heart 
 died within her at the thought that Insaroff might de 
 part without saying one word to her in private. He too 
 seemed troubled, and noticeably avoided her glance. 
 " Can it be that he will go away so abruptly? " mur 
 mured Ellen to herself. And as she thought thus, In 
 saroff had already risen to say good-bye to Anne Vas- 
 ilievna, when Ellen got up hurriedly from her seat, 
 and called him aside to the window. The good vicar- 
 ess appeared to be astonished, and turned round to 
 satisfy her curiosity as to what the young people were 
 doing, but was so tightly laced that her stays cracked 
 at every movement. She therefore resumed her 
 former posture. 
 
 "Listen," hurriedly whispered Ellen. "I know 
 why you have come ; Andrew Petrovitch has told me 
 of your plans : but I beg you, 1 implore you, do not 
 leave Koontsoff to-day, but come again to-morrow, 
 only earlier, say eleven o clock. I have two words to 
 say to you." 
 
 Insaroff silently bent his head. 
 
On the Eve. 135 
 
 " I will not try to keep you here. It is a promise 
 then ? " 
 
 Insaroff again bowed his head, but said nothing. 
 
 " Nelly, come here," cried Anne Vasilievna ; "just 
 look what a pretty reticule mdtoushka* has." 
 
 " My own work," simpered the vicaress. 
 
 Ellen left the window. Insaroff did not stay above 
 a quarter of an hour. Ellen with furtive glances 
 watched his every motion. He did not remain in one 
 place, did not know where to look, and when he left, 
 quitted the room in an unconscious, abstracted man 
 ner. 
 
 Slowly passed that day with Ellen, and still more 
 slowly the long, long night. For hours she sat mo 
 tionless upon the bed, her hands clasped around her 
 knees, and her head bent listlessly over them ; and 
 then she restlessly moved to the window, pressing her 
 burning forehead against its cold pane ; and all the 
 while she pondered and pondered and pondered one 
 and the same thought, till the brain, weary with the 
 long effort, refused to think any longer. Her heart 
 ceased to beat within her, her whole frame seemed 
 robbed of life, all feeling had passed away ; only the 
 veins of her temples throbbed as if they would burst, 
 her head was burning hot, and her lips feverishly dry, 
 " He will come he did not say good-bye to mamma 
 
 * Matoushka, literally " little mother," employed as a term 
 of affection towards women in the same way as batoushka is 
 used for. 
 
136 On the Eve. 
 
 he will not deceive me. But is it true what Andrew 
 Petrovitch said ? He may be wrong, have misunder 
 stood. He did not promise in words to come ; but it 
 cannot be that I shall never see him again." Such 
 were the thoughts that all that night perpetually 
 haunted her ; she could not banish them from her 
 mind, for they did not come and then depart like idle 
 fears, but literally filled her soul like some heavy mist. 
 " He loves me ! " suddenly flashed through her whole 
 being, and she gazed eagerly into the dark night, as 
 a secret smile, unseen by any one, played on her lips; 
 but she mournfully shook her head, clasped her hands 
 behind her neck, and again, like some heavy mist, a 
 shuddering fear seized upon her soul. Before the 
 morning she undressed, and lay down on the bed, but 
 was unable to sleep. The first rays of the morning sun 
 played on the floor of her room. " Oh if he only 
 loves me ! " she suddenly cried out, and, unabashed 
 by the light that shone in upon her, threw off the 
 clothes. 
 
 She got up, dressed, and went down stairs. No 
 one was stirring in the house. She went into the gar 
 den ; but in the garden all was so still, so green and 
 so fresh, the birds singing with such joyous confi 
 dence, that nature s very gladness only made her 
 more weary and more sad. " Oh," she thought, " if 
 it be but true, there is nothing in the whole world 
 happier than I am ; but is it true ? " She returned to 
 her room, and, in order to kill time, began changing 
 
On the Eve. 137 
 
 her dress. But the dress fell and slipped idly through 
 her fingers, and she was still sitting half-dressed before 
 the looking-glass when she was summoned to break 
 fast. She went down stairs. Her mother remarked 
 her paleness, but merely observed, " How interesting 
 you look to-day ! " and then with a meaning glance 
 added, " That dress suits you admirably ; I advise 
 you to wear it whenever you want to captivate any 
 one." Ellen made no reply, and sat down to the table. 
 In the meanwhile the clock struck nine ; two long 
 hours before it would be eleven ! Ellen took up a 
 book, then began to sew, and then returned to her 
 book; she then determined to walk a hundred times 
 up and down a certain path in the garden, and did 
 so ; then came back and seemingly for hours watched 
 Anne Vasilievna lay out the cards and settle down to 
 a quiet game of patience ; and then she looked at her 
 watch, and saw that it was not yet ten o clock. Shou- 
 bine came in, and she tried to get into conversation 
 with him, and began excusing herself to him, though 
 she had no clear idea of what it was she wished him 
 to pardon. Every word she spoke was not only ut 
 tered with a visible effort, but made her more and 
 more confused. Shoubine bent down and looked at 
 her fixedly. She evidently expected from him some 
 mo<x!ng word, but looking up she saw before her a 
 Sc.d but friendly face. She smiled at his woe-begone 
 look. Shoubine smiled in return, and then silently 
 getting up, left the room. She wished to call him 
 
138 On the Eve. 
 
 back, but at the moment could find no words. At last 
 she heard the clock strike eleven. She began to 
 wait, to wait, to wait, and to listen. She could no 
 longer do anything; she could no longer even think. 
 Her heart beat quickly and loudly, and what was 
 stranger than all, the time that had passed so slowly 
 before, now seemed to fly. A quarter of an hour 
 passed, half an hour, then, as Ellen fancied, a few 
 minutes, when she suddenly shuddered, as she heard 
 the clock strike, not twelve, but one. " He will not 
 come, he will go away without even saying good-bye ! " 
 and with this thought the blood rushed feverishly to 
 her head, she felt as though she could not breathe, and 
 her throat swelled with convulsive sobbings. 
 
 She hurried to her room, and burying her face in 
 her hands threw herself upon the bed. She lay there 
 motionless for half an hour, the hot tears trickling on 
 to the pillow through her close-pressed fingers. She 
 suddenly raised herself up into a sitting posture ; a 
 marvellous change had come over her, the whole ex 
 pression of her face was altered ; her eyes, but now 
 wet with tears, dried of themselves and gleamed with 
 an unnatural fire, her brows were closely knit, and 
 her lips tightly pressed together. And so passed an 
 other half-hour. For the "last time Ellen heaved a 
 bitter sigh was it the sound of a familiar voice that 
 called her ? rose up, put on her hat, threw a cloak 
 over her shoulders, and hurrying unobserved from 
 the house, flew with eager steps along the road that 
 led to Bersieneff s lodging. 
 
On the Eve. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE. 
 
 ELLEN hurried on, with her head slightly bent 
 down, and her eyes peering eagerly forward. 
 She experienced no fear, had formed no definite plan 
 as to what she meant to do ; her only desire was to 
 see Insaroff yet once more. So she hurried on, with 
 out observing that the sun had long been buried be 
 hind heavy thick clouds, that the wind in fitful gusts 
 was howling among the trees, and that the dust began 
 to rise along the road. Large drops of rain began to 
 fall, but she did not notice it ; in a few minutes the 
 rain poured heavily, accompanied at frequent intervals 
 with vivid flashes of lightning and heavy peals of 
 thunder. Ellen then for the first time stopped and 
 looked timidly about her. Fortunately, not far from 
 the spot where she had been overtaken by the tempest, 
 there stood an old tumble-down oratory, built over a 
 dried-up well. She hastened towards it, and took 
 refuge under its low roof. The rain now came down 
 in torrents, and the whole sky was black with dense 
 clouds. In dumb despair Ellen looked out to see if 
 
140 On the Eve. 
 
 there were any prospects of the storm soon clearing 
 up. All hopes of seeing Insaroffwere now destroyed. 
 An old beggar-woman came into the oratory, and 
 shaking herself said , with a low bow, " Allow me to 
 take shelter, mdtoushka? and then, puffing and sigh 
 ing sat down on the steps of the well. Ellen put her 
 hand into her pocket : the old woman observed the 
 movement, and her yellowish shrivelled face, which 
 even still bore faint traces of former beauty, bright 
 ened up " Thank you, my dear good foster-lady," she 
 muttered. Ellen discovered that she had forgotten 
 to put her purse in her pocket, but the old woman 
 was still stretching out her hand. 
 
 " I have no money, bdboushka? said Ellen ; " but 
 take this, it may fetch something ; " and she gave her 
 her pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " Oh, oh, my beauty," cried the old woman, " and 
 what do I want with your handkerchief? Is it, then, 
 a wedding present for my little grand-daughter, who 
 is soon to be married? The Lord reward you for your 
 goodness ! " 
 
 A heavy peal of thunder broke overhead. 
 
 " The Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on us ! " mur 
 mured the old woman, as she crossed herself three 
 times. "I surely have seen you somewhere before," 
 she added after a short silence. " This is not the 
 first time you have given me something, I fancy ? " 
 
 Ellen looked attentively at her, and then recog 
 nized the old woman. 
 
On the Eve. 141 
 
 "Yes, bdboushka? she replied; "you once asked 
 me why I was so sad." 
 
 " To be sure, gohibka? to be sure. I thought I 
 knew you. * And you are not happier now than you 
 were before. Just look at your handkerchief, wet with 
 tears. Ah, you young chickens have one and all the 
 same great sorrow." 
 
 " What sorrow, bdboushka ? " 
 
 " What sorrow ? Ah, my pretty dear, you can t 
 deceive me, I am too old to be cheated. I know what 
 ails you ; yours is no orphan s sorrow. I too was 
 young once, my little heart, and have passed through 
 it all. And now, because you are good and charitable, 
 I will tell you what it is. You have come across a 
 good, brave man : you are no flirty girl ; you will cling 
 to him alone, cling to him till death. It has been so 
 before, and will be so again, seeing such is God s will. 
 You are surprised at what I tell you, but know I am 
 a fortune-teller. Never mind, I will take your hand 
 kerchief, and with it will take away all your sorrow. 
 I will take it all away that is enough. You see, it is 
 not raining so fast now, but you stay under shelter a 
 little longer. I shall go on it is not the first time I 
 have been out in the wet. So you understand : you 
 had a great sorrow, but it is passed away, and you 
 may now forget it. O Lord ! O Lord ! " 
 
 * Another of the terms of affection in which the Russian lan 
 guage is so rich signifying literally " little dove." The mascu 
 line form is gohibchick. 
 
142 On the Eve. 
 
 The old woman got up from the steps, left the 
 oratory, and proceeded on her road. Ellen followed 
 her with a wondering look as she asked herself, " What 
 does she mean ? " 
 
 The rain gradually lessened, and the sun gleamed 
 out for a minute or so. Ellen was already making 
 ready to quit her shelter, when suddenly, not ten steps 
 from the oratory, she saw Insaroff. With his head 
 buried in a cloak, he was going along the same road 
 in which Ellen was bound. He was apparently hurry 
 ing homewards. 
 
 Ellen leaned heavily on the crazy rails of the well 
 steps, tried to call out his name, but could not utter 
 a word. Insaroff had already passed her without rais 
 ing his head. 
 
 " Demetrius Nikanorovitch ! " at last she found 
 voice to cry out. 
 
 Insaroff suddenly stopped and looked round. For 
 the first minute he did not recognize Ellen, but quickly 
 came towards her. " You ! you here ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 She went back, without saying a word, into the 
 oratory, and Insaroff followed her. " You here ! " he 
 repeated. 
 
 She continued silent, and only looked up to him 
 with a long, questioning, loving glance. He lowered 
 his eyes. 
 
 " You have come from our house ? " she asked 
 him. 
 
 " No, not from yours." 
 
On the Eve. 143 
 
 " No ? " repeated Ellen, and she tried to smile. 
 
 " And that is how you keep your promises ; I was 
 waiting for you all the morning." 
 
 " But, Ellen Nicholaevna, remember I made no 
 promise yesterday." 
 
 Ellen again smiled faintly as she stroked her fore 
 head with her hand. Both face and hand were deadly 
 pale. "Then, you meant to go away without saying 
 good-bye to us ? " 
 
 " I did," replied Insaroff, in a dry, low tone. 
 
 " How ? After our friendship, after those con 
 fidences, after all that has passed ! And so, but for 
 my having happened to meet you here " Ellen s voice 
 trembled, and she was obliged to pause for a mo 
 ment "you would have gone away without giving 
 me a farewell shake of the hand, and not been sorry 
 at the pain you caused ! " 
 
 Insaroff turned his face away. " Ellen Nicholevna, 
 I pray you, do not speak so. I have trouble enough 
 without that. Believe me, it was no easy matter to 
 determine to leave you thus. If you but knew " 
 
 " I do not wish to know," interrupted Ellen, with 
 almost fright, " why you leave us. I see it is neces 
 sary. I see we must part. You would not grieve your 
 friends unless you were obliged. But should friends 
 part in such a way ? And we are friends, are we not ?" 
 
 " Not friends," said Insaroff. 
 
 " How, not friends ? " murmured Ellen, and her 
 cheeks became tinged with a faint blush. 
 
144 On the Eve. 
 
 " It is for that reason I go away, because we are 
 not friends. But do not force me to say what I do not 
 wish to say, what I never will say." 
 
 " Once you were frank and open with me," an 
 swered Ellen, in a half-reproachful tone. "You re 
 member." 
 
 "Then I could be open, then there was nothing to 
 conceal ; but now " 
 
 " But now ? " asked Ellen. 
 
 " But now but now I must go. So, good-bye." 
 
 Had Insaroff at this moment raised his eyes, he 
 must have seen that Ellen s face became paler and 
 paler in proportion as his grew gloomier and darker ; 
 but he kept them obstinately fixed on the ground. 
 
 " Well, good-bye, Demetrius Nikanorovitch," she 
 began. " But at any rate, since we have met, give 
 me your hand/ 
 
 Insaroff stretched out his hand " No, I cannot," 
 he muttered, and hastily drew it back. 
 
 " You cannot ? " 
 
 " I cannot. Good-bye." And he turned round to 
 quit the oratory. 
 
 " Wait, if only a moment longer," said Ellen. " You 
 are afraid of me. But I have more courage than 
 you," she continued ; but while she spoke her whole 
 body trembled. " I can tell you do you wish it ? 
 why you have found me here. Do you know where I 
 was going ? " 
 
 Insaroff looked at Ellen with a puzzled glance. 
 
On the Eve. 145 
 
 " I was going to your house." 
 
 " To mine ! " 
 
 Ellen hid her face with her hands. " You wished 
 tc force me to say I love you," she whispered : " well, 
 T have said it ! " 
 
 " Ellen ! " cried InsarofT. 
 
 She seized his outstretched hands, gazed up at 
 him, and fell upon his breast. 
 
 With a passionate, but silent embrace he held her 
 to his bosom. He had no need to tell her that he 
 loved her. That one exclamation of his, the sudden 
 transformation which the entire man had undergone, 
 the agitated heaving of that breast on which she so 
 confidingly reposed, the caressing play of his fingers 
 in her light-brown hair, told Ellen that she was loved. 
 He did not say so, and she felt no need of words. 
 " He is here, he loves me what more do I want ? " 
 The rest of heavenly peace that lends to death itself 
 a beauty and a rapture, filled her soul. She wished 
 for nothing now, because she possessed all. " Oh, 
 my brother, friend, and darling ! " whispered her lips ; 
 and she scarce knew whose heart it was, whether his 
 or hers that beat so softly and so gently. 
 
 But he stood silent and motionless, as he clasped 
 to his bosom with a firm, strong embrace, this young 
 girl who had given her life into his keeping, and 
 pressed to his breast this new and ever-precious 
 charge ; a feeling of tenderness, a feeling of unde 
 fined thankfulness, broke through his selfish pride, 
 10 
 
146 On the Eve. 
 
 and tears, such as he had never shed before, filled his 
 eyes. She, however, did not shed a tear ; but only 
 murmured, " Oh, my brother ! Oh, my friend ! " 
 
 And so passed a quarter of an hour, he still em 
 bracing her as she leaned her head on his bosom. 
 " And so," he at last said, " you will go with me, 
 wherever my fate may call me ? " 
 
 " Anywhere to the end of the world : where thou 
 art, there will I be." 
 
 "And you do not deceive yourself; you know, 
 your parents will never consent to our marriage ? " 
 
 " I am not deceiving myself; I know it." 
 
 " You know that I am poor, a mere beggar ? " 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " That I am not a Russian, that I never can live in 
 Russia, that you will have to break all the ties that 
 bind you to your fatherland and to your family ? " 
 
 " I know it, I know it." 
 
 " And you also know that I have dedicated my 
 self to hard and thankless work, that I that we shall 
 have to endure not merely danger, but deprivation, it 
 may be even ignominy ?" 
 
 "I know it, I know all I love you." 
 
 "That you must give up all your habits and com 
 forts of life ; that there, alone, among strangers, you 
 may be compelled to work " 
 
 She put her hand upon his mouth. " I love you, 
 my darling ! " ^ 
 
 He covered her small fair hand with warm and 
 
On the Eve. 147 
 
 passionate kisses. Ellen did not seek to remove her 
 hand from his lips, but with a kind of childish glee 
 and innocent curiosity watched him devouring her 
 hand and fingers with burning kisses. 
 
 She suddenly grew crimson-red, and hid her face 
 on his bosom. 
 
 Tenderly he raised her head, and, gazing fixedly 
 into her eyes, cried out, " Hail to thee, my wife, be 
 fore God and the people ! " 
 
148 On the Eve. 
 
 >, 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 JOYFUL ASSURANCE. 
 
 AN hour later, and Ellen, with her straw hat in one 
 hand, and her cloak in the other, quietly entered 
 the drawing-room. Her hair was slightly disordered, 
 a little red spot was burning on either cheek, a smile 
 was playing on her lips, and through their half-closed 
 lids could be seen the bright gleaming of her eyes. 
 She was almost dead with fatigue, but this fatigue was 
 pleasant to her, at* that moment everything was pleas 
 ant and delightful. Everything seemed to her to be 
 kindly and delicious. Urban Ivanovitch was sitting 
 by the window; she came up to him, put her hand 
 on his shoulder, and, slightly bending over him, 
 smiled, as it were involuntarily. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked in surprise. 
 
 She did not know what to say. She longeci to nug 
 Urban Ivanovitch, and to give him a good kiss. 
 
 " Sprawling ! " she whispered at last. 
 
 But Urban Ivanovitch did not even smile, but con 
 tinued to regard Ellen with a look of astonishment. 
 She threw over him her cloak and hat. 
 
 " My darling Urban Ivanovitch," she went on to 
 
(JV 
 
 gyyi 
 
 On the Eve. 
 
 s 
 ^"* fe ^ 
 
 1 19 
 
 say, " I want to sleep, I am frightfully tired. 5 * 
 
 she again smiled, and sank into a chair that stood 
 
 beside him. 
 
 " Ah ! " muttered Urban Ivanovitch, and began to 
 play with his fingers : " ah ! well, then of course 
 yes, certainly ! " 
 
 But Ellen in the meantime glanced around her, 
 and thought : " Soon I must part from all this, and 
 yet strange that I have no feeling of fear, hesitation, 
 or regret but no ! mamma will grieve ! " And then 
 once more she saw the little oratory, once more she 
 heard his voice, once more she felt his arms encircle 
 her. Her heart beat joyously, but weakly ; it too was 
 wearied and exhausted. She thought of the old 
 beggar-woman. "She was right," Ellen thought to 
 herself; " she divined my grief. Oh, how happy I 
 am ! what undeserved joy ! and how soon ! " She 
 felt that if she only gave way to her emotion for a 
 moment, she must burst into tears. She could only 
 restrain them by forcing herself to smile. Whatever 
 position she assumed, it seemed to her that nothing 
 could be better, nothing more comfortable ; it was as 
 if she were lulled by some cradle-song. Her move 
 ments were now measured and slow, her former rest 
 lessness and nervous activity had disappeared. Zoe 
 came in ; Ellen decided that she had never seen a 
 more pleasing face. Anne Vasilievna soon after 
 wards came in ; Ellen felt a choking in the throat, 
 but rose up and tenderly embraced her good mother, 
 
150 On the Eve. 
 
 kissed her on the forehead, and softly stroked her 
 hair, which was already fast getting grey. She then 
 went to her own room, and how cheerful everything 
 looked there ! With what a feeling of modest triumph 
 and contentment did she sit down on her bed, that 
 same bed on which, but three short hours ago, she 
 had writhed in such agony and despair ! " But even 
 then I knew that he loved me," she said to herself, 
 " and long before then. Hail to thee, my wife ! " 
 she murmuringly repeated, as, covering her face with 
 her hands she fell on her knees. 
 
 Towards evening she became more thoughtful. 
 She was filled with sorrow at the thought that it must 
 be long before she could see Insaroff again. He could 
 not, without exciting suspicion, remain with Bersieneff, 
 and for this reason he had arranged with Ellen that 
 he should at once leave for Moscow, but come to see 
 her t\vo or three times during the autumn. She, for 
 her part, had promised to write to him, and if possible 
 find the opportunity of occasionally meeting him in 
 the neighborhood -of Koontsoff. She came down 
 stairs to tea, and found the whole family assembled, 
 together with Shoubine, who looked up meaningly as 
 she entered. She wished to speak with him in their 
 old friendly manner, but feared lest he should dis 
 cover her secret, and feared still more lest she should 
 betray it herself. She felt that it was not without a 
 reason that he had left her for two weeks in peace. 
 Shortly afterwards Bersieneff called, with InsarofPs 
 
On the Eve. 151 
 
 compliments to Anne Vasilievna, and excuses for 
 having left for Moscow without coming himself to say 
 good-bye. It was the first time since their interview 
 that the name of Insaroff had been pronounced in 
 Ellen s presence ; she felt that she blushed ; at the 
 same time she understood that it was only proper she 
 should express regret at the sudden departure ; but 
 she could not bring herself to say a word, and sat 
 motionless and silent. She tried to keep close to 
 Bersieneff; for she did not fear him, though he in 
 part knew hei secret; but she felt that he was a pro 
 tection to her from Shoubine, who all the while kept 
 his eyes fixed on her, watching and noting her every 
 moment. Bersieneff too felt puzzled that evening: 
 he had expected to see Ellen much more cast down 
 than she appeared to be. Fortunately for her, a dis 
 cussion about some question of art was started be 
 tween Bersieneff and Shoubine; she drew a little 
 aside, and only heard their voices as it were in a 
 dream. Little by little, not only they, but the whole 
 room, and all that were in it, seemed to her but as a 
 dream everything, the tea-urn on the table, Urban 
 Ivanovitch s short waistcoat, Zoe s little feet, and the 
 oil portrait of Prince Constantine that hung on the 
 wall everything grew indistinct, became covered 
 with a cloud, ceased to exist. She experienced a 
 kind of pity for them all. " For what do they live ? " 
 she asked herself. 
 
152 On the Eve. 
 
 " You are sleepy, Nell," exclaimed her mother ; 
 but Ellen did not hear her words. 
 
 "A suspicion that is altogether well founded, you 
 say ? " Those words, spoken in a sharp tone by 
 Shoubine, were the first that aroused Ellen from her 
 meditations. "Granted," he continued ; "but do 
 not forget that is the very criterion of true art. A 
 suspicion that is entirely just will fall dead ; the most 
 criminal will bear it with calm indifference ; but if 
 only half true, it will be more than he can bear, it 
 will vex him and make him impatient. For instance, 
 if I say that Ellen Nicholaevna is in love with one of 
 as here, what sort of suspicion is that, pray ? " 
 
 "Let me tell you, Monsieur Paul," interrupted 
 Ellen, " I should very much like to prove to you that 
 I am vexed with you, but I am really too tired." 
 
 " Why don t you go to bed ? " muttered Anne 
 Vasilievna, who herself liked to doze of an evening, 
 and was consequently always ready to send others off 
 to bed. " Say good night, and God bless you. I am 
 sure Andrew Petrovitch will excuse you." 
 
 Ellen kissed her mother, and with a slight curtsey 
 to the rest left the room. Shoubine followed her to 
 the door. " Ellen Nicholaevna," he whispered to her 
 on the threshold, " you delight in crushing Monsieur 
 Paul, you trample on him without pity, but Monsieur 
 Paul worships you, worships your feet, and the shoes 
 on your feet, worships the very soles of your shoes." 
 
 Ellen shrugged her shoulders, reluctantly gave 
 
On the Eve. 153 
 
 him her hand not the one Insaroff had kissed 
 and, withdrawing to her room, at once undressed, lay 
 down, and fell fast asleep. Her sleep was sound and 
 unbroken as the sleep of a child, a slumber such as 
 we can only enjoy in our infancy, whilst our mother 
 sits by the cradle, watches over us, and listens to our 
 breathing. 
 
154 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 GENTLEMANLY REVENGE. 
 
 to my room for a minute," Shoubine said 
 to Bersieneff as soon as they had taken leave 
 of Anne Vasilievna : " I have something to show you." 
 
 Bersieneff accompanied his friend. He was 
 struck with the number of studies, statues, and busts, 
 all covered with wet towels, which were arranged in 
 all the corners of the room. 
 
 " I see you are working in earnest," he observed 
 to Shoubine. 
 
 " One must do something," replied the latter. " If 
 you don t succeed in one thing, try another. Besides, 
 I am a Corsican, and go in rather for the Vendetta 
 dodge than for true art. Trema, Bisanzia ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Bersieneff. 
 
 "Well, wait an instant. Now, please to look 
 around, my dear friend and critic ; this is revenge 
 number one." 
 
 Shoubine uncovered one of the figures, and Ber 
 sieneff recognized in it a bust of Insaroff, marvellous 
 for its exact resemblance. The features were In 
 saroff s, exact to the minutest detail, the expression 
 
On the Eve. 155 
 
 was admirably given in all its winningness, nobility, 
 and daring. Bersieneff was enthusiastic in his praise 
 of it. 
 
 " It is admirable ! " he exclaimed. " I congratu 
 late you heartily on your success. You ought to send 
 it to the Exhibition. But why do you call this mag 
 nificent production revenge number one ? " 
 
 " Because, sir, I intend to present this magnificent 
 production, as you are pleased to style it, to Ellen 
 Nicholaevna on her birth-day. Do you understand 
 the allegory ? We are not blind, we can see what is 
 going on under our very noses ; but we are gentlemen 
 my good sir, and our revenge shall be gentlemanly too. 
 
 " And here," continued Shoubine as he uncovered 
 another figure, " since artists, according to the newest 
 aesthetical canons, enjoy the enviable right of incar 
 nating any horror, provided they only idealize it suffi 
 ciently, so we, in the production of this ideal, have 
 taken our revenge number two, though no longer as 
 gentlemen, but simply, en canaille" 
 
 Whilst thus declaiming, he dexterously whipped 
 off the covering, and exposed to Bersieneff s view a 
 statuette of the same Insaroff, but in the Dantesque 
 style. It were impossible to imagine anything more 
 devilish and cunning. The young Bulgarian was rep 
 resented as a goat, his hind-legs slightly extended and 
 his head bent down ready to butt. The stupid air of 
 importance, the brutal anger, obstinacy, and awkward 
 ness of the animal, combined with the striking like- 
 
156 On the Eve. 
 
 ness of the features, rendered it impossible for Ber- 
 sieneff not to laugh at the grotesqueness of the figure 
 before him. 
 
 " What ? you find it droll ? " continued Shoubine : 
 " did you recognize the hero ? Do you advise me to 
 send this also to the Exhibition ? This, my dear 
 friend, I intend as a present to myself on my own 
 birth-day. I lowly bend my knee in homage before 
 your imperial greatness ! " And Shoubine bent his 
 knee three times, each time touching the ground with 
 his forehead. 
 
 Bersieneff took the cloth from the floor, and threw 
 it over the statuette. 
 
 " Yes, you are magnanimous," Shoubine exclaim 
 ed ; " in history you will be known as Andrew the 
 Magnanimous ! But it is all the same. And now," 
 he continued as with mock solemnity he proceeded 
 to uncover a third statuette, " you will see something 
 to convince you of your friend s humility and sagacity. 
 In this you have a proof that he, like all genuine artists, 
 feels the need and the blessing of being buffeted. 
 Behold ! " 
 
 The cloth was removed, and Bersieneff could see 
 two heads in a line, and almost touching one another. 
 He did not at once guess for whom they were intend 
 ed, but upon looking more attentively recognized in 
 one of them the features of Annette; in the other, 
 Shoubine himself. They were, indeed, caricatures 
 rather than portraits. Annette was represented as a 
 
On the Eve. 157 
 
 pretty, stoutish girl, with a low forehead, watery eyes, 
 and a turned-up nose. There was a smile of effront 
 ery on her thick lips, and her whole face wore an ex 
 pression of self-assurance, sauciness, and cold-heart- 
 edness. Shoubine was represented as a used-up, 
 worn-out, fast-liver, with sunken cheeks, with thinish 
 locks of grey hair, hollow expressionless eyes, and the 
 sharp-pointed nose of a corpse. 
 
 Bersieneff turned away in disgust. 
 
 " A loving pair, are they not ? " asked Shoubine. 
 " And what do you think of ray inscriptions for them ? 
 I have already hit on a title for the first two. Under 
 the bust I shall write, The Hero resolving to save his 
 country ; under the statuette, Look out, my German 
 Friends ! and for the third, what clo you say to The 
 fate of the illustrious artist, Paul Jakovlevitch Shou 
 bine ? " 
 
 " Stop that ! " interrupted Bersieneff. " Was it 
 worth your while to waste your time on such " he 
 hesitated, as if searching for a word. 
 
 " Disgusting abortions, you wish to say. No, my 
 friend, you must not be so prudish ; you will find 
 plenty such groups in our modern exhibitions." 
 
 " They are exactly so disgusting," continued Ber 
 sieneff. " And what does this folly mean ! You have 
 none of those tendencies towards the nasty, which 
 unfortunately, so many of our artists in the present 
 day exhibit. You are merely doing injustice to your 
 talents." 
 
158 On the Eve. 
 
 " You think so, do you ? " sulkily rejoined Shou- 
 bine. " And if I haven t them, but they are beginning 
 to grow upon me, who is to blame ? One person, and 
 only one. Do you know," he continued, knitting his 
 brows in a tragical manner, " I tried what drink would 
 do?" 
 
 " Nonsense ! " 
 
 " I did, word of honor ; but it left a nasty taste in 
 the mouth, couldn t get it to go down the throat easily, 
 and had a splitting headache for my pains. The 
 great Loustchichin himself Charlampius Loustchich- 
 in, the first of Moscow artists, though for the rest a 
 thorough Russian bear told me that I had better 
 give it up, as I was not one of the sort to be inspired 
 by drink." 
 
 Bersieneff raised his hand threateningly to the 
 group, but Shoubine prevented him. 
 
 " Hold on, my boy, don t destroy it. It is a good 
 lesson, it is a kind of scarecrow." 
 
 "In that case," Bersieneff said, laughing, "I con 
 sent to let the scarecrow remain : but now, give your 
 homage to the eternal and the true in art." 
 
 " Homage to the true in art," echoed Shoubine. 
 " To succeed in it, is well ; to fail in it, is no dis 
 honor." 
 
 The two friends shook each other warmly by the 
 hand, and separated. 
 
On the Eve. 159 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 REACTIONARY FEELING. 
 
 THERE was a gladness mingled with fear in 
 Ellen s first waking thoughts on the next morn 
 ing. " Is it true ; is it true ?" she kept asking her 
 self, and her heart overflowed with joy. Recol 
 lections crowded upon her, and she was lost and per 
 plexed in them. And then, once more, a happy, 
 rapturous feeling of peace came over her. But in 
 the course of the day Ellen grew more and more 
 restless, and on the morrow was weary and depresse d. 
 True, she knew now what she had so longed to 
 know, but the conviction that she was loved did 
 not give her ease. That never-to-be-forgotten inter 
 view had taken her out from the old world ; she no 
 longer lived in it, she was far removed from it, and 
 yet all the while everything around her remained the 
 same, everything went on according to the regular 
 routine, as though no change had taken place in her, 
 and Ellen was expected to take her wonted part and 
 share in the daily business and trifles of household 
 life. She tried to write a letter to InsarorT, but was 
 unable ; the words she scrawled on the paper seemed 
 
160 On the Eve. 
 
 to have no meaning, to be neither dead nor alive. 
 She put away her journal, having first drawn under 
 its last entry a thick black line. All that was past ; 
 and she in her thoughts, in her whole being, only lived 
 now in the future. She could not interest herself in 
 what was passing around her. To sit with her moth 
 er, who suspected nothing, to listen to her idle chat, 
 to answer her endless questions, to talk with her, 
 seemed to Ellen almost a crime; she felt that she 
 was acting the part of a hypocrite ; her conscience 
 was troubled, though she knew she had no cause to 
 blush ; and more than once she was tempted with an 
 almost irresistible desire to reveal all, let the conse 
 quences be what they might. " Why," she thought 
 to herself, " why did not Demetrius then and there, 
 in the oratory, bid me follow him ? Did he not de 
 clare before God I was his wife ? Why then, am I 
 here ?" For the first time she began to avoid the 
 others, even Urban Ivanovitch, who was much more 
 thoughtful than usual, and was constantly playing 
 with his fingers. They no longer seemed to her to 
 be kindly or caressing; like some nightmare, they 
 weighed upon her as a dead and heavy burden ; they 
 appeared to reproach her, to upbraid her, to be un 
 willing to acknowledge her as one of their own. 
 Even her pets, abandoned nestlings and homeless 
 animals, looked at her at least, so she fancied sus 
 piciously and with unfriendly glances. She began to 
 be ashamed of herself for entertaining such ideas. 
 
On the Eve. 161 
 
 " This is my home," she murmured, " my family, my 
 country." " No, this is no longer thy home or thy 
 country," answered another voice. Fear took pos 
 session of her ; and again she reproached herself 
 for her lack of courage. The struggle had only just 
 begun, and she had already lost the power to endure. 
 Was this the fulfilment of her promise ? 
 
 It was only gradually that she mastered her 
 fears : one week passed after another, and Ellen little 
 by little grew more composed and more habituated 
 to her new position. She wrote two short notes to 
 Insaroff, and took them herself to the post ; partly 
 from pride, and partly from shame, she was unwilling 
 to trust them to the care of a servant. She was 
 already expecting his arrival. But, one morning, 
 there arrived not Insaroff, but Nicholas Artemvitch. 
 ii 
 
1 62 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE NEW BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 NO one in the house could remember ever to have 
 seen Lieutenant Stachoff so severe, and at the 
 same time so self-important and pompous, as he was 
 that day. He marched into the sitting-room in his 
 paletot and cap with slow, measured steps, his sword 
 jingling noisily as he walked ; stalked up to the look 
 ing-glass, took a long view of his handsome self, as 
 he complacently nodded his head and stroked his 
 moustache. Anne Vasilievna welcomed him in her 
 usual fussy manner ; but he did not take off his cap, 
 or address a word to her, but silently gave Ellen his 
 gloved hand to kiss. Anne Vasilievna began to ques 
 tion him about his cure ; he gave her no answer. 
 Urban Ivanovitch entered the room ; he merely look 
 ed at him, and exclaimed, " Bah ! " With Urban 
 Ivanovitch he was generally cold and grand, though 
 he acknowledged him to be " of the pure Stachoff 
 race." It is well known that nearly every Russian 
 noble family prides itself on its exclusive and partic 
 ular possession of some special physical quality, 
 granted by a merciful Providence to them, and them 
 
On the Eve. 163 
 
 alone. Thus, you will hear them talk among them 
 selves of the " Podsalackinsky " nose or of the " Pere- 
 prievsky " neck. Zoe next came in, and made a low 
 curtsey to Nicholas Artemvitch. He gave a grunt, 
 sank into an arm-chair, ordered coffee to be brought 
 to him, and only then took off his cap. The coffee 
 was served, and when he had drank it, addressing 
 them each in order, he grunted through his teeth, 
 " Sortez s il vous plait : " but turning to his wife, add 
 ed, " Et vous, madame, restez,je vous prie" 
 
 All left the room, except Anne Vasilievna. She 
 was trembling with excitement. The solemn man 
 ners of Nicholas Artemvitch alarmed her. Evidently 
 something terrible had happened. 
 
 " What is it ? " she exclaimed almost before the 
 door was closed. 
 
 Nicholas Artemvitch looked at her with a dignified 
 and stately glance. " Nothing extraordinary, that you 
 should at once put on the appearance of a martyr at 
 the stake," he began, quite unnecessarily wrinkling 
 the corners of his lips at each word : " I only wished 
 to inform you that to-day we shall have a new ac 
 quaintance to dinner." 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 " Gregory Andreevitch Cournatovsky. You do 
 not know him. First secretary in the Senate." 
 
 " He will dine with us to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
164 On the Eve. 
 
 "And it was only to tell me this that you ordered 
 the others to leave the room ? " 
 
 Nicholas Artemvitch again looked at his wife, but 
 this time with a lofty ironical glance. "That sur 
 prises you ? You can keep surprised." 
 
 He said no more, and for awhile Anne Vasilievna 
 too remained silent. 
 
 " I should wish " she began. 
 
 " I know," he muttered, "you have always regard 
 ed me as an immoral man. 
 
 " I ! " cried Anne Vasilievna, in a frightened tone. 
 
 " And perhaps, with justice. I do not wish to 
 deny that at times I have given you just cause for dis 
 satisfaction (the grey horses, thought Anne Vasil 
 ievna) though you yourself must allow that with your 
 health and sickly constitution " 
 
 "I have never in any way accused you, Nicholas 
 Artemvitch." 
 
 " Oest possible. In any case I am not disposed to 
 justify myself. I leave that to time. But I consider 
 it my duty to assure you that I know what my obliga 
 tions are, and am able to protect zealously the inter 
 ests of of of a family that reposes reposes con 
 fidence in me." 
 
 " What does all this mean ? " Anne Vasilievna 
 asked herself. She could not know that only the eve 
 ning before there had been a discussion among some 
 of the members of the English Club as to the inca 
 pacity of a Russian to make a speech. " Who amongst 
 
On the Eve. 165 
 
 us is there that can speak ? Just point out one if you 
 can," exclaimed one of the disputants. " Well, there 
 is Stachoff, for example," answered the other, as he 
 pointed to Nicholas Artemvitch, who was standing 
 close by, swelling and puffing with pride at being thus 
 singled out. 
 
 " For instance," continued Nicholas Artemvitch, 
 "there is my daughter Ellen. Do you not find it 
 time that she should at length take that serious step 
 in the path that she should marry, I mean. All that 
 philosophy and all that philanthropy of hers is very 
 well, but only to a certain degree, only up to a certain 
 age. It is full time that she should give over dream 
 ing, take pleasure in the society of others than artists, 
 writers, and Montenegrians, and live like the rest of 
 the world." 
 
 " May I ask in what sense I am to understand 
 your words ? " inquired Anne Vasilievna. 
 
 " Be so good as to give me your attention for a 
 few minutes," replied Nicholas Artemvitch, still keep 
 ing up his oratorical pose, " and I will tell you sim 
 ply, and without any further digressions. I have made 
 acquaintance, I have formed a friendship, with this 
 young man, Mr. Cournatovsky, in the hope of his 
 becoming my son-in-law. I venture to believe that 
 when you see him for yourself, you will not accuse 
 me of having formed a partial or hasty judgment." 
 (Nicholas Artemvitch was a great admirer of his own 
 powers of eloquence.) " He is highly cultivated, was 
 
1 66 On the Eve. 
 
 educated to the law, his manners are irreproachable, 
 he is only thirty-three, is first secretary, is a college 
 accessor, and has a Stanislaus on his neck.* I hope 
 you will do me the justice not to reckon me among 
 the number of those peres de comedie who dream only 
 of ranks and orders ; but you yourself have told me 
 that Ellen Nicholaevna will tolerate none but men of 
 business, men who are actively engaged. Gregory 
 Andreevitch is the first in his profession. Then, 
 again, my daughter has a weakness for magnanimous 
 actions. Well, you must know that Gregory Andree 
 vitch, as soon as it is possible for him to do so you 
 understand me as soon as he is in such a position 
 that he can live becomingly on his salary, he will re 
 nounce in favor of his brothers his share of the 
 allowance assigned to them by their father." 
 
 " And who is his father ?" asked Anne Vasilievna. 
 
 " His father ?" answered Nicholas Artemvitch : 
 " his father is also in his way a remarkable man, 
 moral to the highest degree, un vrai stoicien ; a major 
 on half-pay, I believe ; manages the whole of Count 
 B s property." 
 
 * The civil employees under the Russian Government, as well 
 as those in military service, are divided into fourteen ranks, or 
 classes. A college accessor corresponds to a major in the army. 
 The cross of St. Stanislaus is one of the numerous orders given 
 by the crown to those in its service. Only the higher orders are 
 worn round the neck ; the inferior ones are attached to the up 
 per button-hole of the coat. 
 
On the Eve. 167 
 
 " Ah !" muttered Anne Vasilievna. 
 
 "Ah ! what does Ah ! mean," exclaimed Nicho 
 las Artemvitch. " Can it be that you are the slave 
 of prejudices ?" 
 
 " I said nothing," timidly replied Anne Vasil 
 ievna. 
 
 " Yes, you did : you said, Ah ! However, I have 
 thought it my duty to advise you of my opinion on 
 the matter, and I venture to believe I venture to 
 hope that Mr. Cournatovsky will be received a bras 
 ouverts. He is no Montenegrian." 
 
 " Of course he will : but we must call John, and 
 tell him to prepare an extra dish." 
 
 " You know, I never concern myself with such do 
 mestic details," replied Nicholas Artemvitch, as he 
 got up, put on his hat, and whistling as he went, turn 
 ed into the garden for a stroll. Some one had once 
 told him that it was only proper to whistle when at 
 home, in the country, or in the stables. 
 
 At ten minutes to four a hired carriage drove into 
 the Stachoffs courtyard, and a young man, of pleas 
 ing exterior, and plainly but well dressed, got out. 
 He announced himself as Gregory Andreevitch Cour 
 natovsky. 
 
 The following is an extract from a letter which 
 Ellen wrote the next day to Insaroff : 
 
 " Congratulate your little wife, my dear Demetrius, on her new 
 fiance. He dined with us yesterday : it seems, papa became ac 
 quainted with him at the English Club, and invited him here. 
 
1 68 On the Eve. 
 
 Of course, you understand he was not already my fiance when 
 he arrived. But good mamma, whom papa had already informed 
 of his wishes, whispered in my ear who our new guest was. His 
 name is Gregory Andreevitch Cournatovsky, and he serves as 
 first secretary in the senate. First of all, I must describe to you 
 his outward appearance. He is of medium height, not so tall 
 as you, and well formed; his features are regular, his hair is cut 
 close, and he wears large whiskers. His eyes are small, like 
 yours, brownish in color, and piercing ; he has flat, broad lips ; 
 there is a perpetual smile playing in his eyes and on his lips, a 
 kind of official smile, which tells you at once that he is in gov 
 ernment service. His manners are very simple; he speaks pre 
 cisely everything he does is precise ; he walks, laughs, eats, 
 does everything in the same precise way. How closely she has 
 observed him ! you are most probably thinking at this moment. 
 Yes : that I might be able to describe him to you. And besides, 
 who would not observe her fiance with the greatest of atten 
 tion ? There is something stern about him, and, at the same time, 
 something dull and empty ; and he seems honorable they say, 
 in fact, that he is very honorable. You, too, appear to me to be 
 stern, but it is a different kind of sternness. He sat next to me 
 at the table, Shoubine being opposite to us. In the beginning, 
 the conversation turned on some commercial undertakings ; they 
 say he is well versed in business affairs, and all but threw up his 
 government place to become manager of a large manufactory. 
 To look at him, one would never imagine it ! Then Shoubine 
 began to talk of the theatre ; Mr. Cournatovsky gave his opinions, 
 and without any false modesty, I must confess, proved that he 
 knew nothing about art. It made me think of you ; but I 
 thought, No ! Demetrius and I, we understand art in quite a 
 different way. He did not say so, but you could see he meant, 
 * I do not understand art, and indeed it is not necessary, though 
 in a well-constituted empire art may be allowed its place. He 
 is, however, sufficiently indifferent as to the charms of St. 
 
On the Eve. 169 
 
 Petersburg, and to all that is comme il faut ; he once even called 
 himself a proletariat. We, he said, are workmen. I thought, 
 If Demetrius had said that, I should have been vexed ; but he 
 may say what he likes, and let him boast as much as he chooses. 
 With me he was very polite ; but yet I fancied he talked with 
 me like a superior who wished to be condescending. Whenever 
 he wishes to praise any one, he says, that so-and-so has a prin 
 ciple : that is his favorite phrase. I am sure he is very self-satis 
 fied, industrious, capable of making a sacrifice you see, I am 
 impartial that is, of sacrificing his own interests ; but he is a 
 great despot. Woe betide the man or woman who falls into his 
 hands ! During dinner we spoke of bribing. I grant, he said, 
 that in many cases the man who takes a bribe is perfectly inno 
 cent. It is impossible for him to act otherwise. But if he is 
 discovered, he ought to be severely punished. Punish an in 
 nocent man ! I cried out. Yes, for the principle s sake. What 
 principle ? asked Shoubine. Cournatovsky was not at all put 
 out or confused by the question, but simply said, That is self- 
 evident. Papa, who is apparently a worshipper of his, echoed 
 his words, That is self-evident, and, to my regret, the subject 
 dropped. In the evening Bersieneff came and got into a hot 
 dispute with him. I have never seen our good Andrew Petrovitch 
 so excited. Mr. Cournatovsky did not in any way deny the advan 
 tages of a scientific training, of a university course, and so on, 
 but yet I could well understand why Andrew Petrovitch was so 
 angry. He looks upon all this as a kind of gymnastics. After 
 dinner Shoubine came up to me, and said, Both he and the 
 other he never mentions you by your name are practical men, 
 but what a difference there is between them ! the one has before 
 him a living, genuine, ennobling ideal ; the other, without any 
 feeling of duty, a mere red-tapist, with no higher idea of honor 
 than what the administration exacts. Shoubine is right, and I 
 give you his opinion ; but, to my mind, the real difference con 
 sists in this : you believe, and he does not, since he is only able 
 
170 On the Eve. 
 
 to believe in himself. It was late before he left us, but not too late 
 for mamma to assure me that I pleased him, and that papa was 
 in raptures. He actually condescended to say of me, that I was 
 evidently a well-principled girl. I was very nearly telling mam 
 ma that I was sorry to disappoint them all, but that I had 
 already a husband. Why is it that papa dislikes you so much ? 
 With mamma things might yet be managed. Oh, my darling ! 
 I have given you this minute description of our new guest only 
 if possible, to stifle my unrest. Without you life is no life ; not 
 a moment but I see you, and hear your voice. I expect you, 
 only do not come to our house, as we first intended ; it would 
 only be unpleasant and awkward for both of us : but you know 
 where I wrote to you in the arbor. Oh, my darling 1 How I 
 love you ! " 
 
On the Eve. 171 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 
 
 IN the third week after Cournatovsky s first visit, 
 to Ellen s great delight, Anne Vasilievna removed 
 to Moscow, taking up her winter quarters in her large 
 wooden house, near Pretchiskenky Square, a house 
 with plaster columns, a white plaster wreath and lyre 
 under each window, a wing for the servants 1 rooms, 
 a garden at the back, a large courtyard in the front, 
 having a fountain in the middle, and a dog s kennel 
 at the entrance. Usually Anne Vasilievna did not 
 leave the country so early ; but this year the first au 
 tumnal colds were supposed to be prejudicial to her 
 health, and Nicholas Artemvitch, whose course of 
 treatment was now finished, found his wife s society 
 dull. Besides which, Augustina had gone to Reval 
 on a visit to a cousin of hers, and a foreign com 
 pany of artists had arrived in Moscow, and were now 
 giving there a series of representations, consisting of 
 des poses plastiqucs^ a glowing description of which 
 in the Moscow Gazette had greatly excited Anne Vas- 
 ilievna s curiosity. In a word, all were heartily tired 
 of the country, and moreover, as Nicholas Artem- 
 
172 On the Eve. 
 
 vitch expressed if, their further sojourn there " was 
 incompatible" with the carrying out of his plans." 
 The last fortnight of their stay seemed interminable 
 to Ellen. Cournatovsky came twice every Sunday: 
 during the week he was engaged. He came avow 
 edly to see Ellen, but for the most part talked with 
 Zoe, who was in raptures with him, and could not 
 sufficiently admire his fine voice, his manner of speak 
 ing, and his exquisite pronunciation. " Das ist ein 
 mann!" she thought to herself, as she gazed on his 
 brown manly face, and listened to his conceited and 
 condescending speeches. Insaroff did not come to 
 the StachorTs, but Ellen met him once secretly in the 
 arbor on the banks of the river Moscow, where she 
 had appointed to meet him. They had only time to 
 exchange a few words. Shoubine returned to Mos 
 cow with Anne Vasilievna, and Bersieneff followed 
 them a few days later. 
 
 Insaroff was sitting alone in his room, and, for 
 the third time, was reading a letter which had been 
 privately forwarded him from Bulgaria, since it was 
 dangerous to trust to the post. Its contents greatly 
 disturbed him. Affairs in the East were becoming 
 serious, the occupation of the Principalities by the 
 Russian troops had excited a general uneasiness 
 throughout Europe, the storm was quickly gathering, 
 and the dullest could foresee the signs of a speedy 
 and inevitable war. All around, the fire was smoul 
 dering, and none could predict where it would break 
 
On the Eve. 
 
 out or where it would extend to 
 
 long disappointed hopes were reviving 
 
 heart beat feverishly, his dreams were on the eve of 
 
 being realized. " But is it not too soon ? will it not 
 
 be all in vain ? " he asked, as he wrung his hands in 
 
 perplexity. " We are not ready : but be it so ! The 
 
 blow must be struck." 
 
 A light noise was heard outside the door, it was 
 quickly pushed open, and Ellen entered the room. 
 
 Insaroff, trembling all over, rushed towards her, 
 fell on his knees before her, and passionately pressed 
 her to his bosom. 
 
 " You did not expect me ? " she said as soon as 
 she had recovered her breath, for she had run quick 
 ly up the stairs ; " Oh, my darling ! my darling ! " 
 She laid both her hands on his head, and looked 
 around. " So this is where you live ? i soon found 
 your lodging. Your landlady s daughter showed me 
 the way. We arrived the clay before yesterday. I 
 did think of writing to you, but after all, thought it 
 was better to come myself. I have only a quarter of 
 an hour to stay. So, get up and shut the door." 
 
 He rose up, hurriedly locked the door, came back 
 to where she was standing, and took her by the hands. 
 He could not speak his joy choked him. She 
 smilingly gazed into his eyes, which beamed with hap 
 piness, and slightly blushed. 
 
 "Stop," she said gently releasing herself from 
 his grasp, " let me take off my bonnet." 
 
174 On the Eve. 
 
 She untied the bonnet-strings, threw it on a chair, 
 let her cloak fall on her shoulders, smoothed her hair, 
 and sat down on a small old sofa. Insaroff did not 
 move, but continued gazing upon her as if be 
 witched. 
 
 u Sit down," she said, without raising her eyes to 
 wards him, and pointing to the place by her side. 
 
 Insaroff sat down, not on the sofa, but on the floor 
 at her feet. 
 
 " Now take off my gloves," she continued in an 
 agitated and troubled tone. She evidently began to 
 feel ill at ease. 
 
 He first began to unbutton and then to pull off 
 one of the gloves, but had only half drawn it off, 
 when he eagerly pressed to his lips her thin, white, 
 soft wrist. Ellen shrank back, and tried to push him 
 away with her other hand, but it was only in vain, and 
 he began to kiss the hand he held. Ellen drew it to 
 wards her ; he bent his head forward ; she looked, 
 half-inquiringly, half-doubtingly, into his face, leaned 
 down, and their lips were joined together. 
 
 A moment passed. She snatched herself from 
 his embrace, rose up, murmured, " No, no," and went 
 hurriedly to the writing-table. 
 
 " Considering I am the mistress here, you must 
 have no secrets," she said, trying to appear uncon 
 cerned, and standing with her back to him. " What 
 a mass of papers ! And what letters are those ? " 
 
 Insaroff knit his brows. " Those letters ? " he 
 
On the Eve. 175 
 
 asked, getting up from the floor. "You can read 
 them." 
 
 Ellen took them into her hands. "There are so 
 many, and they are so closely written ; besides, I must 
 go directly ; so God be with them. They are not 
 from a rival of mine ? They are not in Russian, 
 either," she added, turning over the thin leaves. 
 
 Insaroff came up to her, and put his arm round 
 her waist. She immediately turned towards him, 
 looked up with a bright smile, and let her head fall 
 on his breast. 
 
 " These letters are from Bulgaria, Ellen ; my 
 friends write that I am wanted there." 
 
 " Now ? there ? " 
 
 "Yes, now. There is yet time ; soon it will be too 
 late to go." 
 
 She threw both her arms round his neck. " But 
 you will take me with you ? " 
 
 He clasped her to his breast. " Oh, my darling 
 girl ! my brave heroine ! how nobly you spoke those 
 words ! But is it not a crime, a wicked, thoughtless 
 act, in me, who have no home and am alone in the 
 world, to take you with me and whither ? " 
 
 She put her hand upon his mouth. " Ts-s-s ! or I 
 shall be angry, and will never come to see you again. 
 Was it not all arranged, all settled, between us? Am 
 I not your wife ? Should a wife be separated from 
 her husband ? " 
 
 "Wives do not go into battle," he answered. 
 
176 On the Eve. 
 
 " Not when they can remain behind. But can I 
 possibly stay here ? " 
 
 " Ellen, you are an angel ! But understand, I may 
 have to leave Moscow before a fortnight is over. I 
 can no longer think of continuing at the university, 
 still less of finishing my course there." 
 
 "Is it so?" interrupted Ellen. "You must go 
 soon ? If you only wish it, I will now, at once, this 
 minute, stay with you, remain with you for ever, and 
 not go home; do you wish it? Let us go at once; 
 do you wish it ? " 
 
 Insaroff with redoubled passion clasped her to his 
 breast. " May the just God punish me," he exclaim 
 ed, " if what I do now be a crime ! From this day we 
 are one for ever." 
 
 " Shall I stay ? " asked Ellen. 
 
 "No, sweet; no, my precious love. Go home to 
 day, but be in readiness. This business cannot be 
 done at once, everything must be well provided for. 
 We require money, passports " 
 
 " I have money," said Ellen, " eighty roubles." 
 
 " Well, it is not much," observed Insaroff, " but it 
 is always useful." 
 
 " But I can get more, I can borrow, I will ask 
 mamma. No, better not ask her. I can sell my 
 watch ; and then I have earrings, two bracelets, and 
 a quantity of lace." 
 
 " Money is not the difficulty, Ellen, but the pass 
 ports ; your pass how can we manage that ? " 
 
On the Eve. 177 
 
 " Yes, what is to be done ? A passport is abso 
 lutely necessary ?" 
 
 " Absolutely." 
 
 "You know, an idea has come into my head, 
 Ellen answered, with a smile. " I recollect when I 
 was quite young, one of our servants ran away. She 
 was caught, pardoned, and lived for a long time with 
 us : but in spite of all our liking for the girl, she ran 
 away again. I little thought then that I too, perhaps, 
 might have to run away like her." 
 
 " Ellen, aren t you ashamed ? " 
 
 " What is there to be ashamed of ? Of course, it 
 is better to go with a passport : but if you haven t 
 one ? " 
 
 " We will arrange all that afterwards, afterwards ; 
 only wait a little," muttered Insaroff. 
 
 " Give me time to look about me and to think. Of 
 course, I shall consult you about everything ; that is 
 only right. But I have money." 
 
 Ellen stroked back the locks of hair that had 
 fallen over his forehead. " Oh, Demetrius, how pleas 
 ant it will be to travel together ! " 
 
 "Yes," said Insaroff: "but there, where we are 
 bound for " 
 
 " What ? " interrupted Ellen : " would it not also 
 be happiness to die together ? But why should we 
 die ? We shall live, we are still young. How old are 
 you ? Twenty-six ? " 
 
 " Twenty-six." 
 12 
 
178 On the Eve. 
 
 " And I am twenty. We have still a long life be 
 fore us. Ah, you wished to run away from me ? You. 
 a Bulgarian, had no need of a Russian s love ! Try 
 now to leave me ! What would become of you, were 
 I not by your side ? " 
 
 " Ellen, you know what was my reason for wishing 
 to go away." 
 
 " I know : you loved me, and were afraid. But 
 could it be that you never suspected that perhaps I 
 loved you ? " 
 
 " I give you my word, Ellen, I did not." 
 
 Ellen quickly and suddenly gave him a kiss. 
 " There, I love you for saying that. But, now, good 
 bye." 
 
 " You cannot stay any longer ? " Insaroff asked. 
 
 " No, darling. You think it was easy for me to 
 come out alone ? Our quarter of an hour has long 
 passed by." She began putting on her cloak and bon 
 net. " But you will come and see us to-morrow evening. 
 Oh, no, the day after to-morrow. It will be dull and 
 ceremonious, but there is nothing to be done : at any 
 rate, we shall see each other. Good-bye. Do let me 
 go." He was embracing her for the last time. "Ah, 
 look, you have broken my chain, you dear awkward 
 fellow ; but it doesn t matter. It is all the better. I 
 shall go to Blacksmith s Bridge, and leave it to be re 
 paired ; and if I am asked where I have been, I shall 
 say to the watchmaker s." She had already turned 
 the handle of the door. " Ah, by the way, I forgot 
 
On the Eve. 179 
 
 to tell you that in a day or so Monsieur Cournatovsky 
 intends offering me his hand. But you know what 
 answer I shall give him ; this." She put the thumb of 
 her left hand to the end of her nose, and stretched 
 out the other fingers as far as she could." " Well, 
 good-bye. Au revoir. I know the way now. But 
 see that you do not lose any time." 
 
 Ellen half opened the door, listened for a mo 
 ment, and then, turning round, nodded to Insaroff 
 and hurried from the room. 
 
 Insaroff stood for a minute by the closed door, and 
 listened too. The door down stairs, opening into the 
 courtyard, was heard to bang. He went to the sofa, 
 sat down, and buried his face in his hands. Never 
 before had he experienced such feelings as now pos 
 sessed him. 
 
 " What have I done to merit such a love ? " he 
 thought. " Is it not all a dream ? " 
 
 But the faint fragrance of mignonette, which Ellen 
 had left in his dark shabby room, reminded him of her 
 presence. Together with it he fancied that he still 
 could hear the sound of her young voice, the noise of 
 her light youthful step ; still breathe the warmth and 
 light of her young graceful form. 
 
 * The reader need hardly be reminded that this was in 
 Russia. 
 
i8o On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 PERPLEXITY, AND ITS SERIOUS RESULTS. 
 
 INSAROFF determined to wait for more positive 
 information from Bulgaria, but at the same time 
 began making preparations for his departure. This 
 was no easy matter. For himself there was no diffi 
 culty he had only to apply for a passport ; but how 
 was he to manage with Ellen ? To obtain her pass 
 port by legal means was simply impossible. To mar 
 ry her in secret, and then go to her parents " They 
 would pardon us," he said to himself. " And if not ! 
 We still must flee. But if they make a complaint 
 before the police ; if No, better get the pass 
 port anyhow/ 
 
 He resolved, of course without mentioning any 
 name, to apply to one of his acquaintances, a certain 
 lawyer, who (voluntarily, or involuntarily was quite 
 uncertain) had retired from business, and was well 
 experienced in all matters of a delicate or secret na 
 ture. This respectable worthy lived in a distant 
 quarter of the town, and the wretched cabman whom 
 poor Insaroff engaged took more than an hour in 
 bringing him to the house, and when Insaroff arrived 
 
On the Eve. 181 
 
 he had the pleasure of finding nobody at home. On 
 his road back, thanks to a sudden and heavy shower, 
 he got wet to the skin. The following morning, in 
 spite of a violent headache, Insaroff again set off for 
 the lawyer s. The lawyer listened to his request very 
 quietly, whilst regaling himself with plentiful sup 
 plies of snuff from a box, whose lid was adorned 
 with the figure of a full-breasted nymph, and gave 
 many a side glance at his visitor with his cunning 
 eyes, which were also of a snuffy color. He heard 
 him out, and then asked for " preciser information as 
 to the fictitious data ; " and observing that Insaroff, 
 who in reality had an inexpressible repugnance to 
 the whole business, was unwilling to enter into de 
 tails, dryly counselled him to throw away " all foolish 
 reserve," and to be kind enough to come another 
 time, " when you have," he added, taking a pinch of 
 snuff, " a little more confidence and lesi cttsM- c* in 
 honest people. As for the passport," he added, 
 speaking as it were to himself, " it is a mere question 
 of writing : you, for example, leave Moscow : who 
 knows you, who you are, whether you be Marie Bre- 
 dichin or Caroline Vogelmeyer ? " A feeling of dis 
 gust began to take hold of Insaroff, but he merely 
 thanked the lawyer, and promised to call for the pass 
 m a few days. 
 
 On the evening of the same day he paid a visit 
 to the Stachoffs. Anne Vasilievna received him in 
 the most friendly manner, reproached him with hav 
 
1 82 On the Eve. 
 
 jng forgotten them so long, and, observing how pale 
 he was, inquired after his health; Nicholas Artein- 
 vitch did not address a word to him, but when he 
 received him there was a kind of half-thoughtful, 
 half-idle curiosity in his look ; Shoubine was cold and 
 reserved in his manner: but what astonished him 
 most was Ellen s marvellous tact and self-possession. 
 She had expected him, and had put on the same dress 
 which she wore at their first meeting in the oratory ; 
 but she was so completely at her ease, so amiable, 
 and so unreserved in her gayety, that, to look at her, 
 no one could have imagined that this young girl s 
 destiny was already decided, and that the secret 
 knowledge of her happy love gave animation to her 
 features, grace and charm to her every movement. 
 She helped Zoe in serving the tea, and was the mer 
 riest and noisiest of them all : she knew that Shou 
 bine was watching her, that Insaroff was unable to 
 act a part or to assume indifference, and she therefore 
 put on a courage that she was far from really feeling. 
 Nor was she mistaken ; Shoubine did not once take 
 his eyes off from her, and Insaroff was very dull an 1 
 silent during the whole evening. Ellen was so hap 
 py that she longed to twit him with being so 
 gloomy. 
 
 "Well," she suddenly asked him out loud, "have 
 you carried out your plan ? " 
 
 "What plan?" demanded he in a troubled tone. 
 
 " So, you have forgotten ? " she answered laugh 
 
On the Eve. 183 
 
 ing : only he understood the meaning of that ringing 
 merry laugh. " Why, your Bulgarian Reading-book 
 for the Russians." 
 
 " Quelle bourde ! " Nicholas Artemvitch grumbled 
 through his teeth. 
 
 Zoe sat down to the piano. Ellen gave an almost 
 imperceptible shrug of the shoulder, and then looked 
 meaningly, first at Insaroff, and then at the door, as 
 if to hint to him that he should go home. She next 
 tapped gently with her fingers twice on the table, all 
 the while looking at him significantly. He under 
 stood that she meant to give him a meeting on the 
 day after the morrow, and she exchanged a quick 
 smile with him when she saw that he had rightly com 
 prehended her dumb-show. Insaroff soon after got 
 up to say good-bye : he felt extremely giddy and 
 weak. Just then Cournatovsky made his appearance. 
 Nicholas Artemvitch jumped up from his chair, and 
 with a boisterous and fervid shake of the hand wel 
 comed the First Secretary. Insaroff prolonged his 
 visit for a few minutes, that he might have an oppor 
 tunity of examining his rival s appearance and man 
 ners. Ellen furtively shook her head, and the master 
 of the house not having thought it necessary to in 
 troduce them to one another, Insaroff left, having ex 
 changed a last glance with Ellen. Shoubine was 
 buried in thought, and only aroused himself to begin 
 an angry discussion with Cournatovsky on some dry 
 and seemingly meaningless law question. 
 
1 84 On the Eve. 
 
 Insaroff could not sleep the whole night, and got 
 up in the morning quite jaded and ill He however 
 busied h: iself with putting his papers and letters in 
 order, hat his head was heavy and confused. By 
 iinner line he was hot and burning, and was unable 
 o e it anything. The fever grew more violent towards 
 the evening ; every one of his members was aching, 
 and his head was racked with the torturing pain. 
 Insaroff lay down on the same sofa where so lately 
 Ellen had sat. "I am well punished," he thought; 
 " why did I go to that old knave s ? " and he tried to 
 get to sleep. But a violent illness had laid hold of 
 him. His pulse beat with unnatural force, his blood 
 boiled within him, and the wildest fancies filled his 
 brain. He became unconscious. Like some crushed 
 lifeless mass he lay on his back; when suddenly a 
 low voice was heard speaking softly and whispering 
 in his ear. With a violent effort he opened his eyes, 
 but the light of the still burning candle cut into his 
 flesh, as though it had been a knife. What is that ? 
 There is the old lawyer standing before him, in his 
 bright belted dressing-gown, exactly as he appeared 
 the evening before. " Caroline Vogelmeyer," muttered 
 the toothless old knave. Insaroff looked at him with 
 eager, devouring eyes ; but the old man began to 
 grow wider, fuller, taller ; he was no longer a man 
 he was a tree. Insaroff had to crawl through a 
 dense thicket; he got entangled, fell, and struck his 
 breast against a sharp stone. On the stone, in the 
 
On the Eve. 185 
 
 form of a peddler, was squatted Caroline Vogel- 
 meyer, crying out, " Cakes to sell ! cakes to sell ! 
 cakes to sell ! " and there, just there, was a large pool 
 of blood, and in the distance could be seen the blind 
 ing glitter of swords. Ellen ! and all vanished in a 
 red indistinguishable chaos. 
 
186 On the Em. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE SICK-ROOM. 
 
 "*" I "HERE is somebody down sta rs, I don t know 
 
 -L who, a locksmith or something of that kind, 
 who wants to speak to you, 1 said Bersieneff s servant, 
 who prided himself on his irreproachable manners 
 toward his superiors, and on the sceptical tendency 
 of his mind. 
 
 " Tell him to come in," answered Bersieneff. 
 
 The " locksmith " entered. Bersieneff at once 
 recognized in him the tailor, master of the lodging 
 where Insaroff lived. 
 
 " What do you want ? " he asked him. 
 
 " I have come to your honor," began the tailor, as 
 he kept shuffling his feet, first forwards and then 
 backwards, with an occasional nourish of his right 
 hand, the three last fingers of which were nervously 
 twitching the corner of his apron, " I have come to 
 tell your honor that our lodger is very ill." 
 
 "Which? Insaroff?" 
 
 " Just so : our lodger. No one knows how, but 
 yesterday morning he was still on his feet ; in the 
 evening he merely asked for something to drink; our 
 good woman took him some water; but in the night 
 
On the Eve. 187 
 
 *e hear a thump on the other side of the waU ; and 
 this morning he is without a tongue, but lies like a 
 clod ; and feverish, ah ! my God ! Well, thinks I, 
 he will die for sure; better go and tell the police, 
 thinks I, seeing he is quite alone. But my woman 
 says to me, You go to that gentleman, in whose 
 country-house he lived this summer ; perhaps he ll 
 tell you what to do, or, may be, will come himself. 
 So, your honor, I have come, because, you see, it 
 wouldn t do." 
 
 Bersieneff snatched up his cap, and having given 
 the man something for drink-money, hurried off with 
 him to Insaroff s lodging. 
 
 He found him lying full-dressed on the sofa in a 
 state of unconsciouness. The expression of his face 
 was terribly changed. Bersieneff at once ordered the 
 landlord and landlady to undress him and put him to 
 bed, whilst he himself hastened to a doctor s, and 
 brought him to his friend. The doctor prescribed 
 the immediate application of leeches and a plaster, 
 gave him a dose of calomel, and directed that he 
 should be bled. 
 
 " He is in danger ? " asked Bersieneff. 
 
 " In great danger," answered the doctor. " The 
 lungs are very much inflamed ; the nerves are greatly 
 excited, it may even be that the brain is affected ; and 
 the patient is young. His very strength tells against 
 him. I ought to have been sent for long ago ; but 
 all that science can do shall be done." 
 
1 88 On the Eve. 
 
 The doctor was still very young, and believed in 
 science. 
 
 Bersieneff stayed all night. The landlord and 
 his wife proved themselves to be kind-hearted and 
 active ; they only required some one to tell them what 
 to do. 
 
 Toward the morning InsarofT woke up for a few 
 minutes, recognized Bersieneff, muttered the words, 
 "It seems I am not well," looked around him with 
 the dull uncertain glance of a man who is seriously 
 ill, and again became unconscious. Bersieneff went 
 home, changed his dress, made up a small packet of 
 books, and returned to Insaroff s lodging. He de 
 termined to stay there at least during the first stage 
 of his illness. He surrounded the bed with screens, 
 and arranged for himself a little place near the sofa. 
 It was very dull for him, and the day passed slowly. 
 Bersieneff only left the house to dine. The evening 
 came on. He lighted a candle, shaded it with an 
 abat-jour, and sat down to read. All was silent in 
 the room. On the other side of the wall, in the 
 landlady s room, could be heard the low murmur of 
 conversation, an occasional yawn or sigh. Some one 
 sneezed, and then a low scolding ensued ; from be 
 yond the screen was to be heard the heavy unequal 
 breathing of the patient, not seldom mingled with a 
 dull groan, or the feverish tossing of the head on the 
 pillow. Strange thoughts filled Bersieneff ; s mind. 
 He was by the bedside of a man whose life hung on 
 
On the Eve. 189 
 
 a thread, a man whom, as he well knew, Ellen loved. 
 He recalled to memory the night when Shoubine 
 overtook him, and reminded him that Ellen loved 
 him. him, Bersieneff. But now " What shall I do 
 now?" he asked himself: "inform Ellen of his 
 illness ? or shall I wait a little ? It will be still sadder 
 news than that which I once took to her. Strange, 
 how fate wills me ever to play the part of a mediator 
 between them ! " He determined it would be better 
 to wait. His eyes fell on the table covered with a 
 mass of papers. "Will he ever fulfil his designs, or 
 can it be that all has come to an end ? " He was 
 touched with pity for this young life, wrecked so 
 early, and swore to save it from the clutches of death. 
 
 The patient passed a bad night, and was delirious 
 during nearly the whole time. More than once Ber 
 sieneff got up from his seat, approached the bed on 
 tiptoe, and listened sadly to the sick man s incoherent 
 babblings. Once Insaroff cried out with a sudden 
 and terrible distinctness, " I will not have it ! I will 
 not have it ! you shall not ! " Bersieneff shuddered 
 as he gazed on Insaroff: his features, which bore at 
 the same moment the traces of passion and of death, 
 were fixed and rigid, and his hands lay powerlessly 
 on his breast. " I will not have it," he repeated in a 
 hoarse whisper, so low that the words were scarcely 
 audible. 
 
 The doctor came early the next morning, shook 
 his head, and prescribed some fresh medicine. " The 
 
190 On the Eve. 
 
 crisis will not be for some time yet," he observed, as 
 he took up his hat. 
 
 " And after the crisis ? " asked Bersieneff. 
 
 " After the crisis ? One of two things ; aut Cfzsar, 
 aut nullus" 
 
 The doctor went away. Bersieneff took a few 
 turns in the street; after the stifling atmosphere of 
 the sick room a little fresh air was necessary. He 
 returned and once more sat down to his book. He 
 had already long finished Raumer, and was now en 
 gaged on Grote. Suddenly the door slightly creaked 
 on its hinges, and the head of the landlady s daughter, 
 as usual wrapped up in a thick handkerchief, was to 
 be seen peeping cauticasly in. 
 
 " The young lady who gave me the sixpence," she 
 said in a half-whisper, " has come." 
 
 Her head was as suddenly withdrawn as it had 
 appeared, and at the same moment Ellen entered the 
 room. 
 
 Bersieneff leaped up as if he had been shot ; but 
 Ellen made no sign of recognition, gave no cry of 
 surprise. It seemed that she instantly comprehended 
 all. Her face was ghastly pale, as going behind the 
 screen she looked at the motionless figure that lay 
 stretched on the bed, and with her hands tightly 
 clasped she stood as one petrified. Another moment 
 and she had thrown herself upon InsarorT, but Ber 
 sieneff stayed her. " What are you doing ? " he ex 
 claimed in a low whisper : " do you wish to kill him ? " 
 
On Ike Eve. 191 
 
 She tottered and all but fell to the ground. He 
 gently held her up, led her to the sofa, and made her 
 sit down beside him. She looked up into his face, 
 gazed at him long and earnestly as though she would 
 read his most secret thoughts, and then fixed her eyes 
 on the floor. 
 
 " You think he must die," she said in a tone so 
 cold and quiet that it terrified Bersieneff. 
 
 " In God s name, Ellen Nicholaevna, what do you 
 mean ? He is ill, very ill even dangerously ill. But 
 we will save him, I give you my word." 
 
 " He is unconscious ? " she asked in the same 
 calm, collected tone. 
 
 " For the present he is unconscious. It is always 
 so at the beginning of those illnesses, but it is noth 
 ing, it is nothing, I assure you. Drink a little water." 
 
 She raised her eyes from the ground, and from 
 her expression he could see that she had not heard a 
 word of his replies. 
 
 " If he dies," she continued, always in the same 
 cold, subdued tone, " I die with him." 
 
 At that moment Insaroff gave a light groan ; she 
 shuddered as she heard it, put her hands vacantly to 
 her head, and then began untying the strings of her 
 bonnet. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " Bersieneff asked her. 
 
 She made no reply. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " he asked a second time. 
 
 I shall stay here." 
 
192 , On the Eve. 
 
 " How for long ? " 
 
 " I don t know : it may be all day, for the night, 
 for ever ; I don t know." 
 
 " For God s sake, Ellen Nicholaevna, return 
 home. I certainly never expected to see you here; 
 but as it is, I suppose you have come here only for 
 a few minutes. Think only, they may discover your 
 absence at home." 
 
 " And what then ? " 
 
 " They will look for you will find you." 
 
 " And what then ? " 
 
 " Ellen Nicholaevna ! You understand. He can 
 not protect you now." 
 
 She let her head fall, as if lost in thought, raised 
 her handkerchief to her mouth, and her breast sud 
 denly heaved with convulsive sobbings, whose vio 
 lence seemed to rend her whole body. She hid her 
 face in the sofa, and tried to stifle them, but it was 
 all in vain ; her whole frame quivered and shook, like 
 some young bird that has been caught in the hand. 
 
 " Ellen Nicholaevna ! for God s sake ! " Bersie- 
 neff kept repeating. 
 
 "Who is there? what is that?" Insaroff was 
 heard to murmur. 
 
 Ellen gave a violent start, but Bersieneff remained 
 as it were rooted to his seat. A few minutes passed, 
 and he went up to the bed. As before, Insaroff s 
 head lay helplessly on the pillow, his eyes closed. 
 
 " He is delirious ? " whispered Ellen. 
 
On the Eve. 193 
 
 " Apparently," answered Bersieneff; "but that is 
 nothing ; it is always so, particularly if " 
 
 " When was he taken ill ? " interrupted Ellen. 
 
 " The day before yesterday ; since yesterday I 
 have been here. Trust in me, Ellen Nicholaevna. I 
 will not leave him. Everything that is possible shall 
 be done for him. If necessary, we will call in a physi 
 cian." 
 
 " He will die without me," she sobbed out, wring 
 ing her hands. 
 
 " I give you my word to send you news of him 
 every day, and should there be any actual danger " 
 
 " Swear to me that you will instantly send for me, 
 no matter what hour it be day or night : write a note 
 direct to me. All is the same now. Do you under 
 stand ! You promise to do so ? " 
 
 " I promise before God." 
 
 " Swear ! " 
 
 " I swear." 
 
 She suddenly seized his hand, and before he could 
 release it, pressed it passionately to her lips. 
 
 " Ellen Nicholaevna, what are you doing ? " he 
 stammered. 
 
 " No, no, it is not necessary," disconnectedly mut 
 tered Insaroff, with a heavy sigh. 
 
 Ellen went toward the bed, and, with handkerchief 
 tightly pressed to her lips, gazed long on the sick 
 man. Silent tears flowed down her cheeks. 
 
 " Ellen Nicholaevna ! " Bersieneff whispered to 
 13 
 
194 On the Eve. 
 
 her; "he may come to, and recognize you, and God 
 knows whether that would be well. Besides, I ex 
 pect the doctor every minute." 
 
 Ellen took up her bonnet from the sofa, put it on, 
 and stood still. Her eyes wandered over the room 
 with an expression of utter woe. It seemed she was 
 recalling to mind her former visit. 
 
 " I cannot go," she at length whispered. 
 
 Bersieneff took her by the hand. " Collect your 
 strength," he said in a hurried voice : " do not be 
 anxious ; you leave him in my care. This evening 
 I will call at your house. " 
 
 Ellen looked tenderly at him, exclaimed, " Oh, my 
 good friend ! " and sobbing piteously hastened away. 
 
 BersienefT remained leaning against the door. A 
 sad and bitter feeling, not altogether unmixed with a 
 sentiment of pride and joy, filled his heart. " My 
 good friend ! " he repeated to himself, and shrugged 
 his shoulders as he uttered the words. 
 
 " Who is there ? " Insaroff faintly inquired. 
 
 BersienefT hurried to the bed. " I am here, De 
 metrius Nikanorovitch. What do you want ? How 
 do you feel ? " 
 
 " Are you alone ? " asked the sick man. 
 
 " Alone ? " 
 
 " And she ? " 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? " demanded Bersieieff, in 
 an almost frightened tone. 
 
 Insaroff was silent. " Mignonette," he muttered 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 GOOD NEWS. 
 
 FOR a whole week InsarofF lay hovering between 
 life and death. The doctor was most regular in 
 his visits, and besides, like a young hand, was greatly 
 interested in the case. Shoubine heard of Insaroff s 
 dangerous illness, and frequently called to hear how 
 he was progressing ; several of his compatriots came 
 also, and among the number Bersieneff recognized 
 the two uncouth figures, whose unexpected appear 
 ance at Koontsoff had aroused his curiosity. One or 
 two of them offered to take Bersieneff s post, but he 
 refused to quit the invalid s bedside, as he remembered 
 the promise he had made to Ellen. Every day he saw 
 her, and secretly gave her sometimes by word of 
 mouth, and at other times by letter the minutest de 
 tails as to the state of his patient. With what a beat 
 ing heart she awaited the hour of his visit ! how 
 eagerly she listened to the report he had to give her ! 
 and how anxiously she questioned and cross-ques 
 tioned him ! She burned with impatience to see In- 
 saroff, if only once more ; but Bersieneff prayed her 
 not to go, since Insaroff was rarely alone. The first 
 
196 On the Eve. 
 
 day she knew of his illness she herself all but fell ill ; 
 immediately on returning she shut herself up in her 
 room, and when summoned to dinner, she came down 
 stairs with a face so ghastly pale that Anne Vasilievna 
 was with difficulty restrained from sending for the 
 doctor. But Ellen succeeded in forcing herself to 
 keep well. " If he die," she constantly repeated to 
 herself, " I shall not long survive." This idea served 
 to compose her, and endued her with strength enough 
 to assume an air of indifference. Besides, she was 
 fortunately left very much to herself ; Anne Vasiliev 
 na was taken up with nursing a cold she had caught ; 
 Shoubine was suffering from an unusual fit of industry ; 
 Zoe was seized with a melancholy mood, and spent 
 nearly her whole time in reading Werther ; Nicholas 
 Artemvitch was highly displeased at " that student " 
 so frequently calling, the more so as his " plans " with 
 reference to Cournatovsky were as far from realization 
 as ever. Our practical First Secretary still hesitated, 
 and could not be brought to the point. Ellen did 
 not once thank Bersieneff; there are services for 
 which it is difficult and irksome to express one s 
 thanks. Once, it was on the fourth day of InsarofFs 
 illness, and he had passed such a bad night that the 
 doctor advised a consultation, but only once, she re 
 minded him of his oath. " In that case I will come," 
 she said to him : and she got up and began dressing 
 herself. " No," he advised, " wait only till to-morrow." 
 Toward the evening Insaroff was slightly better. 
 
On the Eve. 197 
 
 And thus passed a week of doubt and uncertainty. 
 Outwardly, Ellen was quiet and composed, but she 
 was unable to eat anything, and could not sleep at 
 night. A dull heavy pain cramped all her limbs, a kind 
 of dry hot smoke seemed to fill her head. " Our 
 young mistress," said the chambermaid to one of the 
 other servants, " is melting away like a candle." 
 
 At length, on the morning of the ninth day, the 
 crisis had passed. Ellen was sitting with Anne Vas- 
 ilievna in the breakfast-room, and, without under 
 standing a word of what she read, was reading aloud 
 to her the Moscow Gazette. Bersieneff came in. Ellen 
 looked up, how quick, timid, anxious, and searching 
 was that first glance with which she invariably greet 
 ed him ! and at once guessed that he was the bearer 
 of good news. She smiled, and when he slightly nod 
 ded by way of reply, she hurriedly rose up to meet 
 him. 
 
 "He is conscious," whispered Bersieneff, "he is 
 saved ; another week or so, and he will be all right 
 again ! " 
 
 Ellen stretched forth her hands, as if warding off 
 some impending blow, and made no answer; only her 
 lips quivered, and a bright red spot slowly widened 
 till it suffused her whole cheek. Bersieneff went up 
 to Anne Vasilievna, and began retailing the news of 
 the day ; but Ellen hastened to her room, and throw 
 ing herself on her knees long and fervently prayed to 
 God. Tears of joy and gratitude rose to her eyes. 
 
I9 8 On the Eve. 
 
 Suddenly she felt a strange weariness creep over her; 
 she laid her head down on the pillow, and murmuring 
 the words, " Poor Andrew !" fell into a soft slumber. 
 It was long, long since she had been able either to 
 sleep or to weep. 
 
On the Eve. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 CONVALESCENCE. 
 
 TJERSIENEFF S prediction was only in part ful- 
 J 9 filled : Insaroff was no longer in danger, but 
 he recovered his strength very slowly, and the doctor 
 spoke forebodingly of the thorough and complete 
 shock which his constitution had received. Notwith 
 standing all this, he left his bed, and could even walk 
 across the room. Bersieneff returned to his own lodg 
 ing, but every day called to see his sick friend, who 
 still continued excessively weak, and Bersieneff as 
 before, every day kept Ellen informed of the state 
 of his health. Insaroff did not dare to write to her, 
 and only indirectly, in conversations with Bersieneff, 
 made any allusion to her ; but Bersieneff, with an af 
 fected indifference, told him of his visit to the Sta- 
 choffs, and tried to make him understand that, though 
 Ellen had been seriously distressed, she was now tran 
 quil and composed. Neither did Ellen write to Insa 
 roff; and it was not, indeed, necessary, considering 
 the resolution she had secretly formed. 
 
 Once, when Bersieneff, his countenance beaming 
 with pleasure, had just told her that the doctor had 
 
2oo On the Eve. 
 
 already allowed Insaroff to eat a mutton chop, and 
 that probably he would soon be able to go out, she 
 listened with her eyes cast down on the floor, as if 
 lost in thought. 
 
 " Guess what I wish to say to you," she said. 
 
 Bersieneff looked vexed. He understood what 
 she meant. " Probably," he answered, turning his face 
 away so that she could not see its expression, " you 
 want to tell me that you wish to see him." 
 
 Ellen blushed as she answered, " Yes, 1 in a scarce 
 ly audible tone. 
 
 " Well, I fancy it is very easy for you to do so." 
 And his heart beat violently as he made this reply. 
 
 " You mean, I have already been there," contin 
 ued Ellen: "but I m afraid to go now; you say, he 
 is very seldom alone." 
 
 "That can be easily managed," Bersieneff replied, 
 with his face still turned from her. " Of course, I 
 cannot tell him that you will come ; but give me a 
 note for him. Who can forbid your writing to a friend 
 in whom, considering his late illness, you are natu 
 rally interested ? There can be no harm in doing 
 that. Make an appointment that is, tell him when 
 you will call." 
 
 " I am ashamed to do it," whispered Ellen. 
 
 " Give me the note ; I will take it to him." 
 
 " That is not necessary ; but I wished to ask you 
 do not be angry with me, Andrew Petrovitch but 
 don t go and see him to-morrow." 
 
On the Eve. 201 
 
 Bersieneff bit his lips. " Ah, yes ; I understand : 
 very good, very good," he said ; and almost immedi 
 ately afterwards got up and left her. 
 
 "So much the better, so much the better," he 
 thought to himself on his way home. I have learned 
 nothing new, nothing that I did not know before ; 
 but so much the better. Why hanker after another 
 man s food ? I have no reason to be ashamed ; I 
 merely did what I thought to be right : but now it is 
 all ended. Let them go ! It was not without reason 
 that my father used to say to me, You and I, my boy, 
 are not aristocrats, pleasure-takers, fortune s pets; 
 nor are we, on the other hand, fortune s martyrs, 
 we are workers, workers, mere workers. Put on your 
 paper-cap, like a good workman, take your place be 
 hind the counter, in your dreary warehouse ! Let the 
 sun shine on others ! Our life, too, however hard and 
 dull, is not without its pleasures and rewards." 
 
 The next morning Insaroff received through the 
 city post the following brief note : " You may expect 
 me to-day : so, take care that you are quite alone. 
 A. P. will not call this morning. 
 
 " ELLEN." 
 
202 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 REPEATED VOWS. 
 
 T IMMEDIATELY on reading Ellen s note,Insaroff 
 -I began to put his room in order, told the landlady 
 to take the medicine bottles away, took off his dressing- 
 gown, and put on his coat. Partly from weakness, 
 and partly from excitement, his head swam around, 
 his heart beat violently, and his feet trembled under 
 him. He lay upon the sofa, and holding his watch 
 in his hand kept looking to see what the time was. 
 " It is now a quarter to twelve," he muttered to him 
 self; she cannot be here before twelve : I must try 
 and think of something else for a quarter of an 
 hour ; earlier than twelve she can t be here." 
 
 The door opened, and, dressed in a light silk robe, 
 all pale, fresh, young, and joyous, Ellen entered, and 
 with a soft cry of joy threw herself on his breast. 
 
 " You are living, my own ! " she kept repeating, 
 while she tenderly stroked his forehead. He sat 
 perfectly still, and could scarcely breathe, so stifling 
 was the sense of happiness at once more having her 
 close to him and by his side. 
 
 She sat leaning her head on his shoulder, gazing 
 
On the Eve. 203 
 
 up at him with that caressing and tender glance 
 which sparkles only in lovers eyes. Suddenly her 
 countenance became overcast. 
 
 " How thin you have grown, my poor Demetri 
 us ! " she said, and then added, as she stroked his 
 face with her hand, " and what a beard you have 
 got!" 
 
 " And you too have grown thinner, Ellen," he an 
 swered, pressing her hand to his lips. 
 
 She laughingly pushed her hair off from her face. 
 " Nonsense ! " she cried. " Just look, how stout I 
 am getting ! The storm has passed over, exactly as 
 it did the day we met in the oratory : it burst upon 
 us, and then cleared off. Now we shall be happy ! " 
 
 He only answered her with a smile. 
 
 " Ah, what days these have been, Demetrius, what 
 wretched days ! How can people survive those whom 
 they really love ? I always knew beforehand what 
 news Andrew Petrovitch would bring : I did indeed : 
 my life ebbed and flowed with yours. Oh, I am so 
 glad, so happy ! " 
 
 He did not know what to say : he felt as if he 
 must throw himself at her feet. 
 
 " I noticed then, too," she continued, pushing 
 back her hair from her forehead, " it is wonderful 
 how many things I noticed at that time from mere 
 wretchedness, that when one is very, very unhappy, 
 everything that passes around one at once becomes 
 absurdly interesting and important. Will you believe 
 
204 On the Eve. 
 
 it, the sight of a mere fly often made my blood run cold 
 with fright. But that is all passed, all passed, is it 
 not ? The future is all bright now, is it not ? " 
 
 "It is you who have made my future bright," 
 answered Insaroff. 
 
 " And you mine, too ! But do you remember 
 when I was at your room, not the last time, no, not 
 the last time," she repeated with an involuntary 
 shudder, " how, while talking together, we spoke of 
 death ? We little suspected then, how near it was. 
 But you are really quite well now ? " 
 
 "I am much better, nearly well again." 
 
 " You have recovered, you will not die. Oh, how 
 happy I am ! " 
 
 A short silence ensued. 
 
 " Ellen ? " asked Insaroff. 
 
 " What, my darling ? " 
 
 " Tell me truly, has it never occurred to you that 
 this illness has been sent as a punishment to us ? " 
 
 Ellen looked seriously at him as he put the ques 
 tion. 
 
 "The thought did come into my head that it 
 might be so, Demetrius. But then, I asked myself, 
 Why should I be thus punished ? What duty have I 
 neglected, or against whom have I sinned ? Perhaps, 
 my conscience is not so tender as that of others, but 
 it did not accuse me : or, perhaps, I have sinned 
 against you. I impede you, I stop you." 
 
 " You, impede me, Ellen ! we shall go together." 
 
On the Eve. 205 
 
 "Yes, Demetrius, we will go together, I will go 
 with you. That is my duty. I love you. I know no 
 other duty but that." 
 
 "Oh, Ellen!" murmured Insaroff, "what a heavy 
 responsibility each word you utter seems to lay upon 
 me ! " 
 
 " Why speak of responsibilities ? " interrupted 
 Ellen. " In all, I have acted of my own free will. 
 " Yes," she went on, looking thoughtfully on the floor, 
 " I have experienced much within the last few weeks? 
 of which I had previously no idea. If any one had 
 told me that I, a young lady of a good family, and 
 well brought up, should ever under various false ex 
 cuses leave home in order to visit a young bachelor, 
 how angry and insulted I should have felt ! And all 
 this happened, and it seems to be quite natural 
 that I should come here ; it does really," she added, 
 turning to Insaroff. 
 
 He looked at her with an expression of such 
 passionate devotion, that she quietly ceased stroking 
 his hair, and covered his eyes with her hand. 
 
 " Demetrius ! " she began again : " you don t know 
 that I saw you then, there on that horrible bed, saw 
 you in the clutches of death, unconscious." 
 
 " You were here ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He was dumbfounded. "And Bersieneff was 
 present?" 
 
 She nodded her head. 
 
206 On the Eve. 
 
 Insaroff bent over her. " Oh, Ellen," he whis 
 pered, " I dare not look at you." 
 
 " Why not ? Andrew Petrovitch is so good ! I feel 
 no shame before him. And what have I to be 
 ashamed of? I am ready to tell the whole world that 
 I am yours. Besides, I trust Andrew Petrovitch as I 
 would my brother." 
 
 Insaroff fixed his eyes searchingly on Ellen. " He 
 loves you, does he not ?" 
 
 Ellen lowered her face. " He did love me," she 
 murmured in a low tone. 
 
 Insaroff threw his arm round her as he exclaimed, 
 " Oh, you Russians are noble-hearted ! And he, he 
 watched over me day and night. And you, you, my 
 angel! Not a word of reproach, not a moment s 
 hesitation and all for me, for me." 
 
 " Yes, yes, all for you, because I love you. Ah, 
 Demetrius ! how strange it is that I have already 
 told you, but all the same, it is pleasant for me to 
 repeat, and it is pleasant for you to hear the first 
 time I saw you " 
 
 " Why are there tears in your eyes ? " interrupted 
 Insaroff. 
 
 " I ? tears ? " She wiped her eyes with her hand 
 kerchief. " How foolish ! he does not yet know that 
 one can weep for over-joy ! But I wanted to tell you : 
 the first time I saw you, I did not find anything ex 
 traordinary in you ; that is the truth. I remember, 
 that when I first saw him, Shoubine pleased me much 
 
On the Eve. 207 
 
 more, and as for Andrew Petrovitch, ah, there was 
 a minute when I thought, Is he not the one ? But 
 you nothing at all : and then and then " 
 
 " Enough, enough ! " hurriedly exclaimed InsarofT. 
 He tried to get up, but fell back, pale and helpless, 
 on the sofa. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " anxiously inquired Ellen. 
 
 " Nothing nothing : I am still a little weak ; I 
 am not strong enough to bear so much happiness." 
 
 " Sit quiet then. Don t say a word, not even a 
 whisper," she replied, holding up her finger threaten 
 ingly. "And why have you not got on your dressing- 
 gown ? It is to soon to be fine gentleman. Sit down, 
 and I ll tell you something. You need only listen : 
 after your illness, it is not good to talk much." 
 
 She began to speak to him of Shoubine, of Cour- 
 natovsky, of all she had done during the last fort 
 night, of the certainty of war soon breaking out, and 
 how, the instant it did commence, it would be neces 
 sary for them, without losing any time, to find a 
 means of leaving Russia. All this she told him, 
 as she sat by his side, leaning her head on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 He listened to all she said, his face at moments 
 growing ashy pale, and then again flushing crimson : 
 several times he tried to stop her, and at length, 
 pushing her gently from him, cried out in an un 
 naturally strained voice, " Ellen, leave me ! for God s 
 sake, go away ! " 
 
208 On the Eve. 
 
 " What do you say ? " she asked in surprise. " Do 
 you not feel well ? " she quickly added. 
 
 "Yes, I am quite well; but, I pray you, leave 
 me." 
 
 " I don t understand you. Do you drive me from 
 you? What is it you are doing?" she hastily ex 
 claimed, as he bent down from the sofa, and madly 
 pressed his lips to her feet. " Don t do that, De 
 metrius Demetrius ! " 
 
 He raised himself up. " Then leave me ! You 
 see Ellen, when I fell ill, I was not at once deprived 
 of consciousness : I knew I was on the brink of the 
 grave ; ay, and in all my fever and in all my wander 
 ings I knew and felt that death was upon me, that I 
 must bid farewell to life, to you, to all ; that there was 
 no longer hope ! And then, this sudden resurrection, 
 this light after darkness, you you here by my side 
 your voice, your breath, all this is more than I 
 can bear ! I feel that I love you madly ; I hear you 
 call yourself my own ; I have no command over my 
 self, I cannot answer for anything ! Leave me, then, 
 Ellen ! leave me ! " 
 
 " Demetrius !" Ellen softly whispered, nestling her 
 head on his breast. Now she understood what he 
 meant. 
 
 " Ellen," he continued, " you know how I love 
 you, you know that I am ready to lay down my life 
 for you ; why, then, do you come to me now, just 
 now when I am so weak, when I have no power over 
 
On the Eve. 209 
 
 myself, when all my blood boils within me ? You are 
 mine, you say you love me " 
 
 " Demetrius ! " she again exclaimed, nestling still 
 more closely and fondly on his breast. 
 
 " Ellen ! closer, closer ! Leave me and, I feel I 
 must die ; I am too weak to bear this excess of joy 
 my whole soul yearns toward you recollect, once 
 already death has all but separated us and now, you 
 are here, in my arms Ellen ! dear Ellen ! " 
 
 She was all trembling with emotion. "Take me, 
 am I not your own ? " she whispered in a voice so low 
 and broken that he could scarcely catch her words. 
 14 
 
210 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 NICHOLAS ARTEMVITCH, with knit brows, 
 was marching up and down his study. Shou- 
 bine, his legs crossed, was sitting by the window, 
 quietly smoking a cigar. 
 
 " Do leave off, for mercy s sake, striding in that 
 fashion from one corner to another !" he exclaimed, 
 knocking the ashes off his cigar. " My neck quite 
 aches with hoisting my head about in order to catch 
 what you say. Besides, there is something affected 
 in your march ; it is too theatrical." 
 
 " It is very easy for you to talk," answered Nich 
 olas Artemritch. " You do not put yourself in my 
 position, you do not remember that I am accustom 
 ed to that woman, that I have at last become attach 
 ed to her, that her continued absence tortures me. 
 Here is October already, the winter set in. What can 
 she have to do at Revel ? " 
 
 "She probably has to knit some stockings for 
 herself this time for herself, not for you." 
 
 "You may laugh and joke as you like, but I tell 
 you, she is honesty and disinterestedness personified." 
 
On the Ere. 211 
 
 " By the way, did she sue you for the payment of 
 that bill ? " asked Shoubine. 
 
 " Her disinterestedness," repeated Nicholas Art- 
 emvitch, in a louder tone, " is something extraordi 
 nary. And then, they tell me that a million such 
 women, just as good as she is, can be found in this 
 world ; but I say, show me the million ; show me the 
 million, that is what I say ; ces fcmmcs, qrfon me les 
 montre ! But not to write to me, it is terrible ! " 
 
 " You are getting eloquent and excited," observed 
 Shoubine : " but you know what I would advise you 
 to do." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " When Augustina comes back you understand ?" 
 
 " Well, what then ? " 
 
 " When you see her you follow the order of my 
 ideas ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes : what then ? " 
 
 " Try the stick with her, and see what that will 
 do." 
 
 Nicholas Artemvitch turned away angrily. " I 
 thought he was going to give me some really useful 
 advice. But what can one expect from him, an artist, 
 a man without fixed principles ? " 
 
 "A man without fixed principles ! Yes, that is the 
 favorite phrase of your new friend, Mr. Cournatov- 
 sky, the man of such high principles, that only yester 
 day he won a hundred roubles from you." 
 
 " Well ! we were playing at speculation. Of 
 
212 On the Eve. 
 
 course I had no right to complain if I lost. But there 
 is not one of you capable of appreciating his true 
 worth." 
 
 " Of course, he thought but let that pass ! " in 
 terrupted Shoubine. " Whether he will be my fath 
 er-in-law or not, that is still a mystery ; but a hundred 
 roubles is not a bad catch for a man who never takes 
 a bribe." 
 
 " Father-in-law ! The devil a father-in-law ! vous 
 revez, mon cher. Certainly, any other girl would be only 
 too glad to find such a husband. Judge yourself: af 
 fable, clever, mixes with the best people, has himself 
 been a high dignitary in two of our provinces." 
 
 " Simply because the governor was fool enough to 
 be led by the nose," added Shoubine. 
 
 " That may be. There is no other way of manag 
 ing things. It only proves that he is a practical 
 man understands the world." 
 
 " And plays his cards well," Shoubine again 
 added. 
 
 Yes, and plays his cards well. But Ellen Nich- 
 olaevna it is impossible to make her out. I should 
 like to know where the man is who can guess what it 
 is she wishes. To-day she is all gayety, to-morrow as 
 dull as death : then she all at once grows ill and thin, 
 till you cannot bear to look at her, and then again she 
 is all at once quite well : and all these changes and 
 caprices are without the slightest reason." 
 
 At this moment an ill-looking lackey entered the 
 
On the Eve. 213 
 
 room, bearing on a tray a cup of coffee, a cream jug 
 and a sugar basin. 
 
 " The husband pleases the father," continued 
 Nicholas Artemvitch, brandishing the sugar tongs, 
 but what does the daughter care about that ? That 
 was all very well in the olden times, in the patriar 
 chal days, but now it is quite different Nous avons 
 changes tout fa. Now, young ladies talk with whom 
 they like, read just what they please, set off alone to 
 Moscow without a servant, just as in Paris, and all that 
 is comme il faut. A few days ago I asked, where is 
 Ellen Nicholaeva ? I was told she had gone out. 
 Where to ? We don t know. What is that ? is that 
 proper ? " 
 
 " Take your cup of coffee, and send the man 
 away," muttered Shoubine. " You yourself say that 
 one must not talk dtvant les doviestiques" 
 
 The servant gave a sharp look at Shoubine ; but 
 Nicholas Artemvitch took his cup, and poured some 
 cream into it, and sweetened his coffee with something 
 like ten lumps of sugar. 
 
 " I wish to say," he began as soon as the lackey 
 had gone out, " that in this house I count for nobody. 
 That is the whole affair. In our day every one judges 
 by outward appearance ; this man is a stupid, empty 
 fellow, but gives himself airs, and all respect him \ 
 but another, who is clever it may be, who might con 
 fer lasting benefits on his country, but who is mod 
 est" 
 
214 On the Eve. 
 
 " Are you going for the statesmanship, Nicholas 
 Artemvitch ? " said Shoubine in a dry tone. 
 
 " Enough of your nonsense ! " exclaimed Nicho 
 las Artemvitch, angrily. " You forget yourself. You 
 yourself are a proof that in this honse I count for no 
 body ; I am literally nobody." 
 
 " Anne Vasilievna bothers you, poor fellow ! " re 
 plied Shoubine, drawlingly. " Ah, Nicholas Artem 
 vitch, you are a sad sinner ! You had far better be 
 thinking of what present you mean to make Anne 
 Vasilievna. In a few days it will be her birthday, 
 and you know how she values the least attention on 
 your part." 
 
 " Yes, yes," Nicholas Artemvitch hurriedly an 
 swered : " I thank you very much for reminding me. 
 Certainly, certainly. I have a little thing by me, a 
 little work box I bought at Rosenstrauch s ; only I 
 don t know whether it will suit." 
 
 " I suppose you bought it for that Revel young 
 lady ? " 
 
 Well yes I had thought" 
 
 " Ah, then it certainly will not do." 
 
 Shoubine got up from the chair. 
 
 " Where are you going this evening, Paul Jakov- 
 levitch?" Nicholas Artemvitch asked in a friendly 
 tone. 
 
 " You will be at the club, I suppose." 
 
 " But after the club after the club." 
 
 " No, Nicholas Artemvitch, no ; I must work to- 
 
On the Eve. 215 
 
 morrow. Another time I shall be very glad." And 
 he left the room. 
 
 Nicholas Artemvitch knit his brows, marched 
 once or twice up and down the room, took out of his 
 bureau the velvet-covered work-box, examined it and 
 its contents for a long time, and then, by means of 
 the looking-glass in the lid, carefully arranged his 
 thick black hair, nodding his head with an air of 
 importance, first to the right and then to the left, but 
 not taking his eyes off from the part in the middle. 
 Some one gave a slight cough from behind the chair 
 on which he had sat down ; he turned round, and 
 discovered the lackey, the same who had served him 
 with the coffee. 
 
 " What do you want ? " he asked him. 
 
 " Nicholas Artemvitch ! " answered the lackey in 
 a solemn tone ; " you are our master." 
 
 " I know that : what about it ? " 
 
 " Nicholas Artemvitch, don t be angry with me ; 
 but I, having been in your service from my youth, 
 from my very infancy, out of mere gratitude ought to 
 tell you " 
 
 " What does all this mean ? " 
 
 " You were pleased just now to say," he stam 
 mered out, "that you did not know where Ellen 
 Nicholaevna went to a few days ago. I can tell you 
 for sure." 
 
 " What are you muttering about, you fool ? " 
 
 " As you please, but four days ago I saw her go 
 to a certain house." 
 
216 On the Eve. 
 
 " Where ? who ? what house ? " 
 
 " In King Street, near the Povarsky not far from 
 here. I asked the dvornick who lived in the house." 
 
 Nicholas Artemvitch began tapping the floor with 
 his foot. " Silence, you wretched fool ! How do you 
 dare to say such a thing ? Ellen Nicholaevna, out. 
 of the goodness of her heart, condescends to visit 
 the poor ; and you get out of the room, you fool ! " 
 
 The frightened lackey had already reached the 
 door. 
 
 " Stop ! where are you off too ? " cried Nicholas 
 Artemvitch. " What did the dvornick tell you ? " 
 
 " Nothing nothing; he merely said that a stu 
 a studen " 
 
 " Silence, you miserable fool ! Listen, if you only 
 dare to breathe a syllable of this rubbish to any 
 one " 
 
 " Do you think " 
 
 " Silence ! if, I say, you only breathe a word, and 
 I hear of it, or any one comes to know of it You 
 are in my power, and you shall never get another 
 place as long as you live. Do you understand ? Now, 
 go to the devil ! " 
 
 The lackey quickly disappeared. 
 
 " Good heavens ! What does it all mean ? " 
 thought poor Nicholas Artemvitch when he was alone. 
 " What has this ass been telling me ? I must find out 
 what house it is, and who lives there. I must go my 
 self. So, this is the end of it all. Un laquais ! 
 k humiliation ! " 
 
On the Eve. 217 
 
 And repeating aloud the words, un laquais ! Nich 
 olas Artemvitch put the work-box back into the bu- 
 reau, and went to look for Anne Vasilievna. He 
 found her in bed with a bound-up face, but the sight 
 of her sufferings only angered him the more, and he 
 soon succeeded in working her up to a state of the 
 utmost excitement and alarm. 
 
2i 8 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE STORM BURSTS. 
 
 IN the meanwhile the storm which had long been 
 gathering in the East, burst forth. Turkey had 
 already declared war against Russia ; the time fixed 
 for the evacuation of the Principalities had elapsed ; 
 the day destined to witness the destruction of Sinope 
 was close at hand. The last few letters received by 
 Insaroff urgently impressed upon him the necessity 
 of immediately setting out for Bulgaria. His health 
 was far from being re-established, he still had a nasty 
 cough hanging about him, was excessively weak, and 
 had slight symptoms of an attack of consumption. 
 But in spite of all this he was rarely at his rooms. 
 His mind was so strongly excited by the news from 
 home that he had no time to think of illness. He 
 was perpetually riding from one end of Moscow to 
 the other, visiting in secret his different Bulgarian 
 friends ; he would sit up whole nights writing letters, 
 and for entire days was nowhere to be found. He 
 had informed the landlord of his intention to quit 
 his lodging before long, and at the same time made 
 him a present of his somewhat cumbersome furni- 
 
On the Eve. 219 
 
 ture. Nor was Ellen, for her part, less busy in mak 
 ing preparations for an immediate departure. One 
 rainy evening she was sitting in her little room, hem 
 ming a pocket-handkerchief, listening, as she worked, 
 with an involuntary feeling of sadness, to the howl 
 ing wind. Her musings were interrupted by the en 
 trance of a servant, who told her that her father 
 wished to speak with her in her mother s bedroom. 
 " Mamma is weeping," she added as Ellen was leav 
 ing the room, " and your papa is in a terrible rage." 
 Ellen slightly shrugged her shoulders, and hur 
 ried to Anne Vasilievna s bedroom. Nicholas Artem- 
 vitch s simple-souled wife was reclining languidly in 
 a folding-chair, and holding to her nose a handker 
 chief strongly scented with eau de Cologne. He 
 himself was standing before the fire-place, every but 
 ton of his military coat duly and tightJy fastened, in 
 a high tight cravat and stiffly starched collar, hav 
 ing evidently got himself up in his favorite pose of a 
 parliamentary orator. With an oratorical wave of 
 the hand he motioned his daughter to a chair, and 
 when she, failing to understand his meaning, looked 
 up inquiringly into his face, he said in the most dig 
 nified of manners, " I pray you to be seated." Nich 
 olas Artemvitch always said "you " to his wife, but 
 to his daughter only on extraordinary occasions.* 
 
 * In Russian, as in most modern languages, " thou " is used 
 in addressing near relations, or those who are inferior in social 
 rank. 
 
220 On the Eve. 
 
 Ellen sat down. Anne Vasilievna gave a tearful 
 sniffle, and Nicholas Artemvitch put his right hand 
 between the two centre button-holes of his coat. 
 
 " I have sent for you, Ellen Nicholaevna," he be 
 gan after an effective silence, " that I may have an 
 explanation with you, or I should rather say, to de 
 mand an explanation from you. I am dissatisfied 
 with your conduct or no, that is saying too little ; 
 your conduct has deeply grieved me, has shocked me 
 me and your mother your mother, whom you see 
 before you." 
 
 In delivering this speech Nicholas Artemvitch 
 used only the deepest bass notes of his voice. Ellen 
 silently glanced, first at him, and then at Anne Vas 
 ilievna, and became deadly pale. 
 
 " There was a time," continued Nicholas Artem 
 vitch, " when daughters trermbled in the presence of 
 their parents : when parental authority was revered 
 and feared. Those times are past, unfortunately (so 
 at least many think) ; but you must know that we 
 have still laws that do not permit that do not per 
 mit in one word we have still laws. I beg of you 
 to pay attention to that fact, we have still laws " 
 
 " But, dear papa," Ellen began. 
 
 " No interruption, I pray. Let us turn our thoughts 
 to the past. I and Anne Vasilievna, we have fulfilled 
 our duty. I and Anne Vasilievna, we have spared 
 nothing in the way of expense or trouble to give you 
 a sound education. What profit you have made from 
 
On the Eve. 221 
 
 that education is another question. j3ut I had the 
 right to think I and Anne Vasilievna, we had the 
 right to believe, that you would sacredly observe those 
 laws of morality which which we imparted to you 
 as our only daughter, which, in a word, que nous vous 
 avons inculques. We had a right to hope that no new 
 ideas would ever undermine your faith in these, so 
 to say, sacred principles. But what has happened ? 
 I do not now speak of any thoughtlessness that might 
 be excused as natural to your sex, natural to your age ; 
 but who could have expected that you would so far 
 forget yourself " 
 
 " Papa !" interrupted Ellen, " I know what it is 
 you wish to say." 
 
 " No, you do not know what I wish to say !" Nich 
 olas Artemvitch cried out in a shrill voice, for the mo 
 ment forgetting the necessity of keeping up his par 
 liamentary pose, and speaking in a stern bass tone ; 
 " you do not know, you wretched child !" 
 
 " For God s sake, speak more calmly, Nicholas," 
 simpered Anne Vasilievna; " Vous me faites mourir" 
 
 "Don t tell me, Anne Vasilievna, que je vous fais 
 mourir ! You have no idea what horrors you will 
 hear in an instant. I can only warn you to prepare 
 yourself for the worst." 
 
 Anne Vasilievna sank back in quiet despair. 
 
 " No," said Nicholas Artemvitch, turning to Ellen, 
 "you do not know what it is I wish to say ! " 
 
 "I am to blame " she began in a low tone. 
 
222 On the Eve. 
 
 " Ah, at last ! " 
 
 "I am to blame," Ellen went on, "in that I did 
 not long ago confess " 
 
 " Do you know, interrupted Nicholas Artemvitch, 
 that by one single word I can cover you with confu 
 sion ? " 
 
 Ellen raised up her head, and looked inquiringly 
 at him. 
 
 " Yes, Miss, with one word ! Do not look at me 
 in that way." He crossed his hands over his breast. 
 " Allow me to ask you whether you know a certain 
 house in King Street, not far from the Povarsky." 
 Each word he spoke was marked by a stamp of the 
 foot. " Answer me, you worthless child, and no eva 
 sions ! People, common people, the very servants, 
 des vils laquais, Miss, have seen you go there, have 
 seen you go to visit your " 
 
 Ellen s eyes sparkled with anger, and her whole 
 face crimsoned. " I have no wish to tell a falsehood," 
 she answered ; " it is quite true, I have been to that 
 house." 
 
 " Very good ! You hear, you hear, Anne Vasiliev- 
 na ? And, perhaps, you know who lives there ?" 
 
 " Yes I do .; my husband." 
 
 Nicholas Artemvitch s eyes almost started out of 
 his head. " Your what ?" 
 
 " My husband," Ellen repeated. " I am married 
 to Demetrius Nikanorovitch Insaroff." 
 
 "You ! married ? stammered Anne Vasilievna. 
 
On the Eve. 223 
 
 " Yes, mamma. Pardon me. We were married 
 secretly a fortnight ago." 
 
 Anne Vasilievna fell back in her chair ; Nicholas 
 Artemvitch strode two steps forward. 
 
 " Married ! to that vile beggar of a Montenegrian ! 
 The daughter of Nicholas StachofT, of the old nobili 
 ty of Russia, married to a vagabond, to a plebeian ! 
 Without her parents blessing ! And you think that 
 such a marriage will stand good, that I shall not com 
 plain, that I will allow you that you that I ? 
 
 You will be sent to a monastery, and he to the gal 
 leys, aux travaux forces. Anne Vasilievna, be good 
 enough to tell her this moment that she is disinher 
 ited, is no daughter of yours." 
 
 " Nicholas Artemvitch, for God s sake, spare me !" 
 groaned Anne Vasilievna. 
 
 " And when, in what manner, was all this done ? 
 Who married you ? where ? how ? Good heavens ! 
 what will all my friends say ? what a scandal ! And you, 
 you shameless imp, you dared after such a crime to 
 live quietly beneath your parents roof ! Did you not 
 fear that God s thunder might strike you dead ?" 
 
 "Papa !" said Ellen, whilst her whole body trem 
 bled, though her voice was firm and steady ; " you are 
 free to do with me as it pleases you ; but you wrong 
 me when you accuse me of shamelessness and false 
 hood. I did not wish to grieve you unnecessarily, but 
 in a few days I must have told you all, since next 
 week I am going away from here with my husband." 
 
224 On the Eve. 
 
 " Going away ? Where to ? " 
 
 " To his home, to Bulgaria." 
 
 " To the Turks ! " cried Anne Vasilievna, and fell 
 back unconscious. 
 
 Ellen hurried towards her mother. 
 
 " Away ! " cried Nicholas Artemvitch, seizing his 
 daughter by the hand : " away ! you worthless child ! " 
 
 But at this moment the door opened and a pale 
 face with flashing eyes was seen peeping in. It was 
 Shoubine. 
 
 " Nicholas Artemvitch ? " he bawled at the top of 
 his voice, " Augustina has come back, and wants to 
 speak to you ! " 
 
 Nicholas Artemvitch turned angrily round, pushed 
 Shoubine out of the room, hesitated for a moment, 
 and then hurried after him. 
 
 Ellen fell down before her mother, and clasped 
 her knees. 
 
 Urban Ivanovitch was lying in bed. A colorless 
 shirt, fastened with a capacious round button, encir 
 cled his full neck, and fell in wide, easy folds over 
 his breast, which was almost womanly in its softness 
 and whiteness, leaving exposed to view a small cypress 
 cross which he constantly wore. A thin sheet covered 
 his out-stretched legs. A candle was burning dimly 
 on a small night table, on which stood a jug of beer, 
 and on the bed, at Urban s feet, Shoubine was sitting 
 and talking. 
 
 " Yes," he said in a thoughtful tone, " She is mar- 
 
On the Eve. 225 
 
 ried, and intends leaving us. Your nephew was furi 
 ous, and bellowed through the whole house ; he shut 
 the bedroom door, to keep it all secret, but ranted so 
 furiously that not only the servants in the kitchen, but 
 the very coachman in the stables, could hear every 
 word he said. And he is still fuming and declaim 
 ing all but quarelled with me and, like a bear beat 
 ing a drum, tries to frighten us all with a father s 
 curse ; but all the while he means nothing. Anne 
 Vasilievna is half dead, though it is her daughter s 
 journey to Bulgaria, rather than her secret marriage, 
 that grieves her." 
 
 Urban Ivanovitch was all the time playing nervous 
 ly with his fingers. " A mother." he at last remarked, 
 "a mother ; well, you know." 
 
 " Your nephew," continued Shoubine, " swore he 
 would complain to the archbishop, the governor- 
 general, the prime minister, and I know not who else; 
 but the end of it all is, that she is going away. It is 
 not easy to ruin the future of one s own daughter. 
 There is nothing to do but to give a loud crow, and 
 then to drop one s tail ! " 
 
 " True, they have not," sagely observed Urban 
 Ivanovitch, and without finishing his sentence turned 
 to the beer jug. 
 
 " So, so. And then, what a host of calumnies 
 
 these Moscow chatterboxes will spread abroad ! But 
 
 she does not fear them ; she is far above them. She 
 
 is going away but where to ? it is horrible to think 
 
 15 
 
226 On tJic 
 
 of ! Such an out-of-the-way place, altogether out of 
 the civilized world ! What a destiny ! I think I see 
 her on the road, just setting off from some station, in 
 the middle of the night, in a thick snow-storm, thirty 
 degrees below the freezing-point. To be separated 
 forever from her countrymen, her family, from all ! 
 But I understand how it has come about. What is 
 there to keep her here ? What friends has she ? 
 Cournatovsky, Bersieneff, and our good friend who is 
 the best of them all. Why, then, pity her ? There is 
 only one bad thing in this business ; they say her hus- 
 hancl Devil take it ! how that word sticks in the 
 throat ! they say Insaroff spits blood ; that s a bad 
 sign. I saw him a few days ago : his face a perfect 
 model for the face of Brutus. You know who Bru 
 tus was, Urban Ivanovitch ? " 
 
 "How should I know? I suppose he was a 
 man." 
 
 "Just so, he was a man? Yes, a remarkable face, 
 but unhealthy terribly unhealthy." 
 
 " Just as good for fighting," laconically observed 
 Urban. 
 
 " It may be for fighting, and I don t dispute the 
 justice of your remark, but it is not just as good for 
 living, and I suppose they wish to live together, not 
 merely die." 
 
 " Living ! that is a question of youth constitu 
 tion ! " remarked Urban. 
 
 " Yes ; youth, fame, courage, make up life. But 
 
On the Eve 
 
 death, life, strife, quarrels, triu 
 
 slavery ! well, well, such is the lot 
 
 is no reason for sitting up to your neck in 
 
 trying to look as if it were all the same to you, when 
 
 it is very far from being a matter of indifference. 
 
 And there life hangs on a thread that may snap at 
 
 any moment ! " 
 
 Shoubine hid his face in his hands. 
 
 "Besides," he continued after a long silence"In- 
 saroff is not worthy of her. But that s nonsense ! 
 No one is worthy of her. Insaroff Insaroff What s 
 the good of false humility ? Let us grant that he is 
 young, lives honorably, though up to now he has been 
 exactly like any of us poor sinners, still, after all, are 
 we really so little worth ? What do you say, Urban 
 Ivanovitch, am I really good for nothing at all ? Has 
 God then been really so miserly towards me ? Has 
 He endowed me with no capacities, with no talents ? 
 Who knows, but that the name of Paul Shoubine may 
 in time become illustrious ? Look at that copper 
 penny lying there on your table. Who knows, but 
 that in a future century it may be worked into a statue 
 raised up to the memory of Paul Shoubine by an ad 
 miring and grateful posterity ? " 
 
 Urban Ivanovitch raised himself up slightly in the 
 bed, and fixed his eyes on the enthusiastic artist. 
 "The old singers," he at last remarked, playing with 
 his fingers as usual, " chose other themes ; but you, 
 yourself nothing more." 
 
228 On. the Eve. 
 
 " Oh, illustrious philosopher of Russia ! " cried 
 Shoubine ; " each word of yours is pure gold. Not 
 to me, but to you, will be erected the statue, I will 
 model it myself. Just as you are lying now, in 
 that exquisite pose, wherein are blended both dig 
 nity and ease, I will take you so. You have justly 
 reproved me for my egotism and self-love. What 
 avails it to speak of ourselves ? what profit is there in 
 all our boasting ? There is nothing good in any one 
 of us ; search where you will, you will not find a man 
 among us all. We are all of us mere sprats and 
 worms ; either mooning Hamlets, grovelling and 
 crawling between heaven and earth ; or else noisy 
 charlatans, beating an empty drum with a rotten stick. 
 And while we are such as these, why probe and dis 
 cover our very soul s innermost workings ? to what 
 end scrutinize our every feeling and sentiment ? merely 
 to say at the last, This is what I am, thus I feel, and 
 thus I think ! Useful, practical study ! No, if by 
 chance there be among us all one that is really good, 
 let us take good care that this pure being do not 
 escape us, do not wriggle out of the net like a fish 
 into the open sea ! What do you say, Urban Ivano- 
 vitch ? When will our time come ? When will there 
 be men among us ? " 
 
 "Give us time," answered Urban Ivanovitch; 
 " they will come ! " 
 
 "They will come! Solid reasoner ! Profound 
 philosopher ! You have said, it shall be. Mark well, 
 
On the Eve. 229 
 
 sage thinker, thy words shall be written down. But 
 what are you putting out the light for ? " 
 " I want to go to sleep : good-night." 
 
230 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MATERNAL AFFECTION. 
 
 OIHOUBINE was right. The unexpected news 
 **-) of Ellen s marriage almost killed poor Anne 
 Vasilievna. She became seriously ill, and was obliged 
 to keep her bed. Nicholas Artemvitch forbade her 
 to see her daughter ; he was almost glad of this un 
 looked-for opportunity of showing off his authority 
 as master of the house, and became unusually noisy 
 and severe toward all the servants, as much as to say, 
 "I will let you know who I am, you had better take 
 care ! " Therefore while he was at home Anne Vas 
 ilievna could not see Ellen, and was obliged to be 
 contented with the company of Zoe, who, to tell the 
 truth, attended her with the greatest care, but fre 
 quently muttered to herself, ^ Die sen Insaroff vor- 
 ziehen and wem ? " But no sooner was Nicholas 
 Artemvitch out of the house and he was now sel 
 dom at home, for Augustina had really come back 
 from Revel than Ellen flew down to her mothers 
 room, and poor Anne Vasilievna would look at her 
 long, silently, and in tears. This dumb reproach 
 smote Ellen s heart far more keenly than all hei 
 
On the Eve. 231 
 
 father s noisy taunts ; she did not once repent what 
 she had done, but she experienced a deep and intense 
 sorrow that was strangely akin to repentance. 
 
 " Mamma ! darling mamma ! " she would repeat 
 as she fondly , stroked her mother s hand : " What 
 could I do ? I was not to blame ; I loved him so 
 dearly that I could not act otherwise. Fate is to blame 
 for uniting me with a man whom papa does not like, 
 and who will take me away from you." 
 
 " For mercy s sake," sighed Anne Vasilievna, 
 " don t remind me of that. My heart sinks within me 
 every time I think of where you are going to." 
 
 " Dear mamma," answered Ellen, " you must recol 
 lect it might have been much worse. Suppose I had 
 died." 
 
 " Then I should have no hopes of ever seeing you 
 again, and it is just so now. Either you will die out 
 there, somewhere, in a filthy hut," Anne Vasilievna s 
 ideas of Bulgaria seemed to be that it was something 
 like the most distant of the Siberian colonies, only 
 much worse, " or else I shall not long survive our 
 parting." 
 
 " Don t talk so, dear mamma ; we shall see each 
 other again. Besides, in Bulgaria there are large 
 cities, just as there are here." 
 
 " What kind of cities, pray ? Then there is war 
 going on there ; and go where you will, I fancy you 
 will find all has been shot down and destroyed. You 
 mean to go very soon ? " 
 
232 On the Eve. 
 
 " Very soon if only papa You know he threat 
 ened to complain, and to get us stopped." 
 
 Anne Vasilievna raised her eyes toward heaven. 
 " No, Nell, he will make no complaint. I would nev 
 er have consented to the wedding, I would rather 
 have died first. But what is done cannot be undone ; 
 and I will take care that my daughter s name is not 
 made public." 
 
 So passed a few wretched days. At last Anne 
 Vasilievna somewhat recovered her strength, and one 
 evening was closeted with her husband in her bed 
 room. All was at once quiet and hushed throughout 
 the house. At first nothing was to be heard ; but be 
 fore long the harsh tones of Nicholas Artemvitch s 
 voice were audible, and then loud and angry exclaim- 
 ations, interrupted at times by a woman s sobbings 
 and ill-repressed cries. Shoubine and Zoe had 
 already determined to force their way into the room, 
 but the dispute evidently grew less and less violent, 
 and soon subsided into a quiet and ordinary conver 
 sation, which was followed by a long silence. This 
 silence was at first interrupted only by hysterical sighs, 
 and these before long ceased entirely. The grating 
 of a key as it turned in the lock, and the fall of the 
 upper flap of the bureau, were then to be heard. In 
 a few minutes the door opened, and Nicholas Artem- 
 vitch appeared. He looked sulkily at Shoubine and 
 Zoe, crossed the passage, and getting into a carriage 
 drove off to his club. But Anne Vasilievna at once 
 
On the Eve. 233 
 
 sent for Ellen, received her with a warm and long 
 embrace, and bursting into a passionate flood of tears, 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " It s all arranged, there will be no complaint, and 
 there is nothing now to hinder you from setting off, 
 and casting us off as soon as you like." 
 
 "You will allow Demetrius to come and thank 
 you," Ellen asked her mother, as soon as the latter 
 had grown a little calm. 
 
 "Wait a little, my love; just now I have not 
 strength enough to see the man who robs me of my 
 all. But I will try before your departure." 
 
 " Before our departure," sorrowfully repeated 
 Ellen. 
 
 Nicholas Artemvitch had consented to make no 
 scandale, but Anne Vasilievna did not think it worth 
 while to tell her daughter at what a price she had been 
 obliged to buy his forbearance. She did not tell her 
 how she had promised to pay all his debts, and had 
 given him, then and there, a hundred roubles. He 
 had, moreover, declared to Anne Vasilievna that, un 
 der no circumstances, would he see Insaroff, whom he 
 to the last designated as " that beggar of a Montene- 
 grian ; " but, on arriving at the club, he of his own 
 accord began speaking to his partner, a general on 
 half-pay, of Ellen and her marriage. "By the way " 
 he observed, in a careless tone between the deals, 
 " you have heard that my daughter, who is a regulai 
 bookworm, has married a university student ? " The 
 
234 On the Eve. 
 
 general looked at him through his spectacles, mutter 
 ed " Indeed 1 " and then asked him what were the 
 stakes. 
 
On the JEve. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE PARTING HOUR. 
 
 THE day of Ellen s departure was fast approach 
 ing. November was drawing to an end, and 
 in two or three days at the most, it would be neces 
 sary to commence their long journey. Insaroff had 
 made all his arrangements, and was burning with im 
 patience to leave Moscow. The doctor too advised 
 him to lose no time : " You must get to a warm cli 
 mate," he told him ; " here you will never recover." 
 Nor was Ellen s impatience one whit the less ; she 
 was disquieted at Insaroff s paleness and weakness. 
 She would often gaze with trembling and fear on his 
 changed and haggard features. Moreover, her posi 
 tion at home began to be insupportable. Her mother 
 evidently looked upon her as a dead child, while her 
 father treated her with a cold disdain. It is true that 
 the nearness of their separation was a source of no 
 less real grief to him than to the rest ; but he consid 
 ered it to be his duty, in the character of a wronged 
 and injured father, to hide his feelings and to con 
 ceal any such weakness. Anne Vasilievna at last 
 consented to see Insaroff. He was introduced into 
 
236 On the Eve. 
 
 the house secretly through the back entrance. When 
 he entered the room, she was for a long time unable 
 to utter a word, and could not even bear to look up 
 at him ; he sat down by her on the sofa, and, with his 
 head bent down, waited till she spoke. Ellen was 
 sitting on the other side, holding her mother s hand 
 in her own. Anne Vasilievna at length raised up her 
 eyes, and in a low tone began, " God be the judge be 
 tween us, Demetrius Nikanorovitch " and then sud 
 denly pausing, the reproach died upon her lips, and 
 she cried out, " but you are ill ! Ellen he is ill ! " 
 
 " I have been unwell, Anne Vasilievna," Insaroff 
 answered, " and indeed am not yet quite recovered ; 
 but I hope that my native climate will soon set me to 
 rights again." 
 
 " Ah, Bulgaria ! " murmured Anne Vasilievna. 
 " Good God ! " she thought to herself, " the Bulgarian 
 is dying ; his voice is hollow, his eyes sunken ; he is 
 little better than a skeleton ; his coat sets like a sack 
 upon him ; he is all bones. And she is his wife, she 
 loves him it must be a dream, it cannot be." But 
 she quickly recovered herself, and added, " Deme 
 trius Nikanorovitch, must you really, really return to 
 Bulgaria ? " 
 
 " I have no choice ; I must go, Anne Vasilievna." 
 
 Anne Vasilievna s eyes slowly filled with tears. 
 "Ah, Demetrius Nikanorovitch, God grant that you 
 may never suffer as I do now. But promise me, that 
 you will never cease to love her, that you will take 
 
On the Eve. 237 
 
 care of her. You will, of course never suffer from 
 want, so long as I live." 
 
 She could say no more, but mutely extended her 
 arms, and clasped Ellen and Insaroif to her breast. 
 
 The fatal day had arrived. It had been arranged 
 that Ellen should bid adieu to her parents at home, 
 but should set off on her long journey from Insaroff s 
 lodgings. Twelve o clock was the hour fixed for 
 their departure. At a quarter to twelve Bersieneff 
 arrived. He had expected to find at Insaroff s some 
 of his compatriots who were to accompany him, but 
 they had already left, as had also those two mysteri 
 ous strangers, of whom the reader has already heard, 
 and who were the witnesses at Insaroff s marriage. 
 The tailor received " the good gentleman " with low, 
 but somewhat unsteady bows ; he had been drinking 
 heavily that morning, probably from grief, or it may 
 be from joy at the furniture having been given him. 
 His wife, like a prudent woman, very soon got rid of 
 him. The room was filled with packages ; a large 
 portmanteau and two corded boxes were standing on 
 the floor. Bersieneff stood by the window lost in 
 thought; many were the painful reminiscences that 
 crowded on his mind. 
 
 Twelve o clock had struck long ago, and the coach 
 man had already put the horses to, but " the young 
 couple " had not yet made their appearance. At 
 length hurried steps were to be heard on the stair 
 case, and Ellen entered, accompanied by Insaroff and 
 
238 On the Eve. 
 
 Shoubine. Her eyes were red ana swoiien ; she had 
 left her mother in a swoon ; the parting had been of 
 the most harrowing and painful kind. Ellen had not 
 seen Bersieneff for several weeks ; his visits to the 
 Stachoffs had of late been very rare. She evidently 
 did not expect to see him, and crying out, "You here ! 
 that is kind of you ! " threw herself on his neck. In- 
 saroffalso embraced him. Along and sad silence 
 ensued. What could any of the three say ? how 
 speak without showing what each at that moment 
 felt ? Shoubine was first to understand the necessity 
 of breaking the silence, no matter how his words 
 might belie his real feelings. 
 
 " The trio has met once more," he said, " and for 
 the last time. Let us submit to the will of fate, think 
 of the happiness we have enjoyed together, and God 
 give us good fortune in our new life. God be with 
 you, where er you go / " he began singing, and then 
 stopped. He felt that it was a desecration to sing in 
 the presence of the dead ; and in that moment the 
 past, of which he had spoken, had died, the past of 
 those three who were there gathered together to bid 
 each other a last farewell. True, it had died but to 
 rise again into a new life ; but for all that it had none 
 the less really died. 
 
 " Well, Ellen," Insaroff said, turning to his wife, 
 " I think all is ready now. Everything is paid and 
 settled. There s only this portmanteau to be carried 
 down stairs. Landlord ! " 
 
On the Eve. 239 
 
 The landlord came into the room, together with 
 his wife and daughter. He was not quite steady on 
 his feet, but listened to Insaroff s orders, hoisted 
 the portmanteau on his shoulders, and hurried clamp 
 ing down stairs. 
 
 Let us now, after the Russian custom, sit down,"* 
 observed Insaroff 
 
 They all sat down, BersienerT on the old sofa, Ellen 
 by his side, whilst the landlady and her daughter 
 stood, with their heads lowly bent, on the threshold. 
 For a few minutes all were silent, and then each 
 smiled at the other, though none knew why he smiled. 
 Each wished to say something by way of farewell ; 
 and each with the exception of the landlady and her 
 daughter, who only wiped their eyes felt that at such 
 a moment they might be allowed to utter any common 
 place, since any remark which betrayed either thought 
 or deliberation would be affected and ill-placed. In 
 saroff was the first to rise and cross himself. " Good 
 bye, little room ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 Then kisses were exchanged, traditionally loud 
 but cold kisses that precede all partings, with kindly 
 wishes for a prosperous journey those half-uttered 
 
 * It is customary in Russia for a traveller, before starting on 
 a long journey, to assemble together his relations, friends, and 
 servants, when they all remain seated for a few minutes in per 
 fect silence : each being supposed to be engaged in prayer to 
 God, that He may be pleased to bless the journey, and bring it 
 to a successful issue. 
 
N 
 
 240 On the Eve. 
 
 wishes that have all the sound of ordinary speech, 
 but mean so much promises to write, and the last 
 hurried words of farewell. 
 
 Ellen, all in tears, had taken her seat in the car 
 riage ; Insaroff was busily engaged in wrapping her 
 feet up warm ; Shoubine, Bersieneff, the landlord, his 
 wife, and his daughter, with the eternal handkerchief 
 wrapped round her head, were all standing on the 
 steps, when a richly caparisoned sledge came full 
 gallop into the courtyard, and out of it, shaking the 
 snow off from the collar of his cloak, leaped Nicholas 
 Artemvitch. 
 
 " Thank God I am not too late," he cried as he 
 ran up to their carnage. " Here, Ellen, is our last fare 
 well blessing," he said, taking out from his pocket a 
 small crucifix sewed on velvet, which he hung round 
 her neck. He began to sob and to kiss her hand ; 
 the coachman, in the meanwhile, dragged out from 
 sledge-box a bottle of champagne and three tumblers. 
 
 " And now," said Nicholas Artemvitch, whilst the* 
 tears in large drops ran down his cheeks, " we must 
 wish you drink to your " He began to pour out the 
 champagne, but his hands trembled so that the wine 
 ran over on the snow. He took one of the tumblers, 
 and gave the other two to Ellen and Insaroff. The 
 latter had already taken his seat by her side. " God 
 grant you," began Nicholas Artemvitch, but could not 
 continue ; he hurriedly drank off the wine, as did the 
 others. " Now it is your turn, gentlemen," he con- 
 
On the Eve. 241 
 
 tinued, turning to Shoubine and Bersieneff; but at 
 that instant the coachman began whipping the horses. 
 Nicholas Artemvitch ran alongside the carriage : " Do 
 not forget to write to us," he said in a broken voice. 
 Ellen put out her head, cried out, " Good-bye, papa, 
 Andrew Petrovitch, Paul Jokovlevitch ; good-bye all ; 
 good-bye, Russia ! " and sank back in her seat. The 
 coachman again gave a whirl with his whip, and began 
 calling to the horses ; the carriage rolled out of the 
 courtyard, and in a few minutes was out of sight. 
 16 
 
242 On the Eve. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A VISIT TO VENICE. 
 
 "TT was a bright April day. Along the broad canal 
 -*- which separates Venice from the narrow strip of 
 sea sand that is called Lido, floated a sharp-nosed 
 gondola, whose easy motion answered to the long and 
 regular sweep of the gondolier s oar. Under its nar 
 row awning, on soft leather cushions, were reclining 
 Ellen and Insaroff. 
 
 The features of Ellen s face had scarcely changed 
 since the day of her departure from Moscow, but 
 their expression was strangely altered ; it had be 
 come much more thoughtful and more severe, and 
 her eyes were more brilliant than before. Her whole 
 body was fresher, and her hair seemed to lie in 
 thicker and heavier folds over her white forehead and 
 fair cheeks. It was only by her lips, when she was 
 not smiling, that one could discern the conscious 
 presence of a never-ceasing, secret care. The ex 
 pression of Insaroff s face, on the contrary, was un 
 altered, but his features were sadly changed. He 
 had grown thinner, was visibly older, no longer held 
 himself upright, and was deadly pale : he was con- 
 
On the Eve. 243 
 
 stantly coughing, with a short dry cough, and his eyes 
 sparkled with an unnatural glitter. On the road from 
 Russia, Insaroff had been laid up at Vienna for nearly 
 two months, and it was already the end of March be 
 fore he and his wife arrived at Venice ; he hoped, by 
 going through Serbia, to be able before long to reach 
 Bulgaria, that being the only road left open. War 
 was already raging on the Danube ; England and 
 France had commenced hostilities against Russia; 
 and the whole Sclavonic race was in a state of excite 
 ment, and actively preparing for revolt. 
 
 The gondola drew up at the inland extremity of 
 the Lido. Ellen and Insaroff walked slowly along 
 the narrow sand-path, planted with small half-with 
 ered trees every year fresh trees are planted, and 
 every year they die which runs along the Lido out 
 toward the sea. 
 
 They came to the farthest point. Before them 
 rolled the dark-blue waves of the Adriatic, foaming 
 and tossing, now rushing up to the very shore, and 
 then with a long roll scudding backwards, leaving on 
 the sand tiny shells and tangled morsels of sea-grass. 
 
 " What a dreary spot ! " Ellen said. " I only fear 
 lest it may be cold for you here ; but I fancy I can 
 guess why you insisted on coming." 
 
 "Cold! " Insaroff quickly answered, with a forced 
 laugh ; " I shall make a fine soldier, if I am afraid of 
 a little cold. But I have come here I will tell you 
 why. I look out on that sea, and it seems to me that 
 
2 44 n the Eve. 
 
 I am nearer to my country. Look, it is there, in that 
 direction," he continued, pointing toward the east. 
 "And the wind blows thence." 
 
 " It s a favorable wind for the ship you are ex 
 pecting, is it not?" asked Ellen. See, there is a 
 sail ; who knows but that may be the ship ? " 
 
 Insaroff looked eagerly at the distant sail which 
 Ellen had pointed out. 
 
 " Renditch promised to arrange all in a week," he 
 replied; "and he is to be depended on. Have you 
 heard, Ellen," he continued in a voice that trembled 
 with emotion, "that the poor Dalmatian fishermen 
 have given their leaden balls-,you know, those things 
 fastened to their nets to make them sink to the bot 
 tomto be turned into bullets ? They had no money, 
 they live only on what little fish they can catch; but 
 they cheerfully gave to the good cause their last 
 goods, and are now dying from starvation. A brave 
 people ! " 
 
 1 Aufgepasst f " suddenly cried a stern voice from 
 behind them. The dull tread of a horse s hoofs was 
 to be heard, and an Austrian officer, before they had 
 scarcely found time to move aside, galloped past 
 them, in a short grey cloak and green casquette. 
 Insaroff looked gloomily after him. 
 
 " He is not to blame," Ellen whispered : " you see, 
 there is no foot-path here." 
 
 " He is not to blame," repeated Insaroff. " Per 
 haps not, but the sight of his grey cloak, and the 
 
On the Eve. 245 
 
 sound of his grating voice, have made my blood boil 
 within me. Let us turn back." 
 
 " Let us go, Demetrius. It really is too damp for 
 you here. You recollect, you were too careless after 
 your Moscow illness, and suffered for it at Vienna. 
 You must be more careful now." 
 
 Insaroff made no reply, but his face still wore a 
 gloomy and bitter expression. 
 
 " What do you say ? " continued Ellen : " let us go 
 along the Grand Canal. Since we have been here, 
 we have not had a good view of Venice. And in the 
 evening let us go to the theatre : I have two tickets 
 for the boxes. A new opera is to be given to-night. 
 Let us to-day forget politics, the war, everything ; let 
 us think only of ourselves, that we live, breathe, care 
 only for each other, that we are one now and for ever. 
 Will you Demetrius ? " 
 
 " Whatever you wish, Ellen, I wish too." 
 
 " I knew you would agree," Ellen replied with a 
 smile. " So let us be going." 
 
 Whoever has not seen Venice in the month of 
 April will find it hard to picture to himself the inde 
 scribable charm of this fairy city. The softness and 
 mildness of spring are to Venice, what the bright 
 summer sun is to glorious Genoa, or what the purple 
 golden autumn is to ancient Rome. Like spring, the 
 beauty of Venice excites and arouses our softest de 
 sires ; it animates and stirs the unspoiled heart like 
 the promise of some near, undefined, mysterious 
 
246 On the Eve. 
 
 pleasure. All is light and clear; all is surrounded 
 with the dreamy haze of some baffling secret; all is 
 tranquil and entrancing; all, from its very name 
 downwards, is womanly, and not without reason has 
 it been baptized Venice the Beautiful. Its majestic 
 palaces and noble churches tower up with airy grace 
 fulness, the harmonious creations of a young god s 
 dream; there is something fairy-like and strangely 
 bewitching in the greenish-grey tint and in the soft 
 ripple of its canals, in the noiseless motion of its 
 dark- colored gondolas, and in the absence of all the 
 clamor and uproar of an ordinary city. " Venice is 
 dead, Venice is deserted," its inhabitants will tell you : 
 and it may be that this last of charms, the charm of 
 decay in the very bloom and fulness of beauty, is also 
 there. To understand the magic of this beauty, one 
 must see Venice. Neither Canaletti nor Guardi 
 not to speak of our modern artists have ever suc 
 ceeded in portraying the soft silveriness of its sky, or 
 the shadowy tints of the distant horizon, with its mar 
 vellous blending of colors gradually melting into one 
 another. The man who is already fagged out with 
 the struggles and defeats of life will visit Venice 
 in vain ; its beauty will be as bitter to him as the 
 memory of the heavenly dreams of his early child 
 hood : but it shall be sweet to him whose strength is 
 as yet unimpaired, and who feels himself to be happy ; 
 let him sun his happiness beneath the sky of Venice, 
 and, however radiant may be his lot, it shall be made 
 
On the Eve. 247 
 
 still more golden, still more promising, beneath that 
 kind and gentle light. 
 
 The gondola in which Ellen and Insaroff had 
 again taken their places, slowly passed the palace of 
 the Doges, and entered the Grand Canal. Marble 
 palaces succeeded marble palaces on either side; 
 they seemed to float quietly by, nor was there time to 
 take in and grasp all their varied beauties. Ellen 
 felt deeply happy ; in her heaven one dark cloud had 
 long threatened to obscure all the light, but it was 
 now fast dispersing : Insaroff was clearly much better 
 to-day. They slowly floated down as far as the arch 
 es of the Rialto, and then turned back. Ellen feared 
 to enter any of the churches, lest they should prove 
 too cold for Insaroff, but recollected the Academy of 
 Fine Arts, and ordered the gondolier to row there. 
 They quickly ran through the different saloons of 
 this small museum. Not being connoisseurs cr dilet 
 tanti, they did not stop before each picture, or force 
 themselves to admire everything they saw. A kind 
 of unexpected gladness had stolen over them both, 
 and they found amusement in all they met. It is a 
 feeling most of us have experienced as children. To 
 the great scandal of three Englishmen, who were n 
 the gallery at the same time, Ellen laughed till the 
 tears came into her eyes at Tintoretto s Saint Mark, 
 darting from heaven like a frog in the water to save 
 a tortured slave ; for -his part, Insaroff was enthusias 
 tic over the vigorous and bold outline of the nobbf 
 
248 On the Eve. 
 
 formed peasant in the foreground of Titian s Assump 
 tion, who with upraised hands is worshipping the as 
 cending Madonna; and both were struck with the 
 dignity and beauty of this same Madonna as she 
 rises calmly and majestically to be caught up in the 
 bosom of the Father. On leaving the academy they 
 once more came across the three Englishmen with 
 their long hare-like teeth and hanging whiskers, and 
 they laughed ; they descried their gondolier with his 
 short-tailed jacket, and they laughed ; they saw a sel 
 ler of old clothes carrying on his head a little bundle 
 of grey wigs, and they laughed louder than before ; 
 they looked one another in the face, and again burst 
 out laughing ; and no sooner were they seated in the 
 gondola than they warmly and affectionately clasped 
 each other s hand. They landed at the hotel, ran 
 about their room like two children, and at last order 
 ed dinner to be served. Their fit of gayety did not 
 abandon them at table. They picked out the choicest 
 bits for one another, drank to the health of old Mos 
 cow friends, applauded the waiter when he brought 
 in a dish of tasty fish, and bothered him for some 
 fresh />//#/ di mare; the waiter shrugged his shoul 
 ders, and scraped his feet, and went out of the room 
 shaking his head ; once even he muttered to himself 
 with a sigh, poveretti ! After dinner they set off to 
 the theatre. 
 
 The new opera, of which Ellen had spoken, was, 
 to tell the truth, common-place enough, but one which 
 
On the Eve. 249 
 
 has since obtained success on every stage, and is 
 well known to us Russians, Verdi s Traviata. The 
 season in Venice was over ; and only second-rate 
 singers took part in the performance ; each, however, 
 cried and screamed to the best of his or her power. 
 The part of Violetta was filled by an artist of no 
 celebrity ; nor, to judge from her cold reception by 
 the audience, was she a favorite, though she was not 
 without talent. She was a young, plain-looking, dark- 
 eyed girl, with an unequal and already somewhat 
 faded voice. Her costume was naively flaunting and 
 in bad taste ; her hair was knotted up with a flaring 
 red ribbon, she wore a dress of tarnished blue satin, 
 and her arms were covered nearly up to the elbows 
 with a pair of thick Swedish gloves : but how could 
 the daughter of a poor Bergamo shepherd know the 
 mysteries of a Parisian camelia s toilette ? She was 
 not quite at home on the stage, but there was a great 
 deal of naturalness and unaffected simplicity in her 
 play, and she sang \\ith all that passionateness and 
 rhythm of expression which is peculiar to the Italians. 
 Ellen and Insaroff were seated in a small box close 
 to the stage, and they were still under the influence 
 of that sprightly mood which had come over them in 
 the Academy of Arts. When the father of the young 
 man, who had fallen a victim to the charms of the en 
 chantress, appeared on the stage in a pea-jacket and 
 a grey wig, the hairs of which stood on end, and, 
 having c pened his mouth, suddenly lost all his Cour- 
 
250 On the Eve. 
 
 age, and could only utter a melancholy bass tremulo, 
 they could neither of them refrain from laughing. 
 But Violetta s playing affected them very differently. 
 
 " That poor girl gets very little applause," said 
 Ellen, " but I prefer her a thousand times to a con 
 ceited second-rate celebrity who screams, throws her 
 self about, and gives grand flourishes, merely to pro 
 duce effect. But here there is no acting ; just look, 
 she pays no attention to the public." 
 
 Insaroff leaned over the box, and looked attentive 
 ly towards Violetta. " Yes," he answered in a low 
 voice, " she is not merely acting death is really upon 
 her." 
 
 Ellen made no reply. The curtain now rose, and 
 the third act commenced. Ellen shuddered at the 
 sight of the bed, the drawn curtains, the side-table 
 covered with medicine bottles, and the shaded lamp. 
 Did they recall to her mind the last few mournful 
 months ? " And the future ? and the present ?" she 
 thought to herself. As if in response to the actress s 
 assumed cough, there was heard in the box Insaroff s 
 dry hacking cough. Ellen furtively looked up at him, 
 but immediately forced her features into an expres 
 sion of quiet contentment. The look, however, did 
 not escape Insaroff, who began half-laughingly to hum 
 the air that was at that moment being sung. 
 
 But he was soon quiet. Viqletta s acting became 
 each instant better and freer. She had lost all timid 
 ity, cast aside every mannerism, and greatest tri- 
 
On the Eve. 251 
 
 umph for an artist, was herself. She had suddenly 
 passed that limit which it is impossible to define, but 
 beyond which is the province of the beautiful. The 
 audience, taken by surprise, became less apathetic, 
 and began to listen with sympathy and interest. In 
 spite of her plainness, and in spite of her broken 
 voice, she had them now at her command, and had 
 touched their hearts. In truth, her voice no longer 
 sounded as if broken, but there was passion and 
 strength in its every note. Alfredo appeared, and 
 Violetta s delirious shout of joy all but provoked that 
 storm of applause which is called fanatismo^ but 
 which has no parallel among our colder audiences of 
 the north. 
 
 A few moments passed, and the audience were 
 again as cold as ever. Then began the duo, the 
 finest piece in the whole opera, in which the com 
 poser has succeeded in expressing all the bitter regrets 
 of a life that has been madly thrown away, the last 
 struggle between despair and powerless love. Car 
 ried away and overpowered by the impulse of a com 
 mon feeling, Violetta, with tears of pride in her art 
 mingled with tears of actual suffering, surrendered 
 herself to the passion that thus strongly possessed 
 her, and her countenance became transfigured, as, in 
 presence of the threatening signs of fast approaching 
 death, the words, Lascia mi vivere morir si giovane^ 
 were rung forth from her lips with an agony that 
 seemed to pierce the very heavens, and the whole 
 
252 On the Eve. 
 
 theatre burst out into one loud tumult of genuine and 
 enthusiastic applause. 
 
 Ellen -involuntarily trembled as she heard those 
 words. She began silently feeling for Insaroff s hand, 
 found it, and pressed it tightly in her own. He re 
 sponded to her clasp, but neither did she venture to 
 look at him, nor he at her. How unlike this clasp 
 was to that fond and careless one which they had given 
 each other on the gondola ! 
 
 They returned to their hotel by the Grand Canal. 
 Night had already set in, a clear soft night. The 
 palaces they passed were the same they had seen be 
 fore, but appeared to be quite different. Those on 
 which the moon shone seemed to be bathed in a 
 golden light and in this light all details of ornament 
 and outlines of windows or balconies were, as it 
 were, lost : these could only be discerned in those 
 buildings which stood shrouded in the light veil of 
 the evening s shade. The gondolas, with their tiny 
 red lamps, seemed to move, if possible, more silently 
 and more swiftly than in the day-time ; their polished 
 steel beaks glittered above the stream ; and silvery 
 sprays, as they fell from the dripping .oars, sparkled 
 in the moonshine, whilst the hum of the gondoliers 
 was the only sound to break the silence that prevailed 
 around them. The hotel at which Ellen and Insa- 
 roff were staying was situated on the Riva del Schia- 
 voni ; on their way to it they got out of the gondola, 
 and strolled several times round the square of St. 
 
On the Eve. 253 
 
 Mark, under the arcades, where a number of gay par 
 ties were assembled in front of different restaurants. 
 There is something peculiarly pleasant in thus stroll 
 ing about, in company with one who is clear to us, 
 among a crowd of strangers in a strange city ; all 
 seems to us to be beautiful and to invite our admira 
 tion ; we wish every one of those strangers to share 
 in our peace, joy, and good-fortune. But Ellen found 
 it difficult to abandon herself to this feeling of happi 
 ness ; her heart, still under the fresh impression of 
 the sorrows of Violetta, was sadly disturbed ; and In- 
 saroff, as they passed the Doge s palace, pointed si 
 lently to the mouths of the Austrian cannons peering 
 out from its lower vaults, and at the same time 
 brusquely pulled his hat over his brows. Soon after 
 wards he began to feel tired, and so, with a last glance 
 at St. Mark s and its cupola, the lofty pinnacle of 
 which glittered in the rays of the full moon like a ball 
 of phosphoric light, they slowly turned homewards. 
 
 Their little room looked out on the broad laguna 
 that stretches from the Riva del Schiavoni to the Giu- 
 decco. Nearly opposite to their hotel rose up the 
 sharp-pointed tower of St. George ; on the right, high 
 up in the air, glittered the golden dome of the Doge s 
 palace ; a little farther on stood the prettiest of all 
 churches, richly adorned like some fair bride, the 
 church of the Redemption; on the left were to be 
 seen the black masts and rigging of ships and the 
 funnels of steamboats, or a sail, looking like a huge 
 
254 On the Eve. 
 
 wing, hoisted half-mast, or a ship s pennon fluttering 
 idly in the breeze. Insaroff sat down by the open 
 window, but Ellen did not allow him to remain there 
 long ; he became all at once feverishly hot, and grew 
 so weak that he was obliged to lie down. Ellen took 
 his place, and sat quietly by the window till he fell 
 asleep. How quiet and calm was the night ! how soft 
 and gentle the air ! It seemed as though the bitterest 
 of sufferings and the acutest of pains could not but 
 be softened and tranquilized beneath the mild influ 
 ence of that clear, bright, and innocent sky. " O 
 God ! " thought Ellen to herself, " why are there such 
 cruel things as death, separation, illness, and tears ? 
 or why this beauty, this sweet feeling of hope ? why 
 the blessed assurance of an abiding home, an un 
 changeable defence, an eternal protector ? What mean 
 that smiling, peace-speaking heaven ; this happy, 
 pleasant earth of ours ? Can it be that this is our all, 
 that beyond us there is nought but eternal cold and 
 silence ? Can it be that we are thus cut off, thus iso 
 lated, and that there, in that wide space of infinite 
 worlds, we have no interest and no concern ? Why, 
 then, these aspirations, and the ever-conscious need 
 of prayer ? Is it then impossible for us to propitiate, 
 to avert, to save ? O God ! is it too hard for Thee 
 any longer to work a miracle ? " She pressed her 
 hands to her head. " Enough ! " she half murmured 
 aloud. " But is it in truth enough ? I was so happy, 
 not for a minute, an hour, or a day, but for months 
 
On the Eve. I/T -r 255 
 
 together. And what right had I to\raojr-all this hap 
 piness ? " The memory of the past happS^s&alarmed 
 her. " But if it cannot be ? " she thought. " If it be 
 given only to those who can profit by it ? Evidently 
 it is the gift of heaven, and we are mere mortals, 
 poor sinful creatures. Morir si giovane ! Away, dark 
 presentiment ! Not for me alone is his life necessary. 
 
 " But if it be punishment, 1 she thought again, "if 
 we have now to pay the full penalty of our sin ? 
 True, my conscience is at ease, even now it makes no 
 reproach ; but is that necessarily a proof of inno 
 cence ? Great God ! are we then, for this, criminals 
 in Thy sight ? Can it be that Thou, maker of this 
 night and this fair sky, wilt punish us because we 
 have loved and love ? But if it be so, if he be guilty, 
 if I have sinned," she silently prayed in a sudden and 
 overpowering transport, " then grant to him, Thou 
 good God, grant to us both, that at last we may die 
 an honorable and a noble death, there, in his native 
 land, but not here, in this dull stifling room ! 
 
 " And the sorrow of the poor lonely mother ? " 
 Ellen asked herself, and was frightened at the ques 
 tion, and could find no answer to quiet her fears. 
 Ellen did not know that each man s happiness is 
 founded on another s misery, that, like a statue, his 
 profit and comfort require a pedestal, and that 
 pedestal is invariably the loss and wretchedness of 
 another. 
 
 " Renditch ! " muttered Insaroff in his sleep. 
 
256 On the Eve. 
 
 Ellen went softly up to him on tip-toe, leaned over 
 him, and wiped the perspiration from his face. He 
 moved restlessly on the pillow, and then lay quiet 
 again. 
 
 She returned to her seat by the window, and was 
 again filled with uneasy thoughts. She began to 
 reason with herself, and tried to persuade herself that 
 there was no cause for fear. She even grew ashamed 
 of what she called her weakness. " Can there be 
 any danger ? Is he not much better to-day ? " she 
 asked herself. " Of course if it had not been for the 
 theatre to-night, no such thoughts would ever have 
 come into my head." At that instant she saw, high 
 above the water, a white sea-gull, that had evidently 
 been frightened by some fishermen, and was flying in 
 an uncertain course, as if seeking some place where 
 it could safely alight. " If it only fly hither," thought 
 Ellen, " that will be a good sign ! " The bird hovered 
 and flitted for a few minutes near the window, folded 
 its wings as if to settle down, and then, as though it 
 had been shot, fell down with a piteous cry on to the 
 deck of a boat in the dark distance. Ellen shuddered 
 at the omen, though she felt ashamed at having shud 
 dered, and, without undressing, lay down on the bed 
 by the side of Insaroff, who was breathing heavily 
 and with difficulty. 
 
On the Eve. 757 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 "TNSAROFF awoke on the following morning with a 
 -*- dull pain in his head, and an ugly feeling of weak 
 ness, as he expressed it, in his whole body ; but he 
 got up as usual. 
 
 " Hasn t Renditch come ? " was his first question. 
 
 " Not yet," answered Ellen, and gave him the last 
 number of the Osservatore Triestino, which was almost 
 entirely filled up with news about the war, the 
 Sclavonic races, and the Principalities. Insaroff be 
 gan reading, whilst she busied herself with preparing 
 his coffee. There was a knock at the door. 
 
 "Renditch," thought both of them, but as the 
 door opened a voice was heard to ask in Russian, 
 " Can I come in ? " Ellen and Insaroff looked at one 
 another in surprise, but, without waiting for an answer, 
 the stranger, who was dressed in the height of fashion, 
 and who had a small pert face with sharp eyes, en 
 tered the room. He was smiling, and looked as 
 pleased as if he had just won a large sum of money 
 or received some pleasant news. Insaroff rose from 
 his chair. 
 
258 On the Eve. 
 
 "You do not know me ?" said the stranger, as he 
 came up to him and at the same time bowed in a 
 friendly manner to Ellen. " LupoyarofT ; you recol 
 lect, we used to meet at the Dolochoffs, at Moscow." 
 
 "Ah yes, at the Dolochoffs," replied InsarofT. 
 
 " Of course, of course ; but I beg of you to in 
 troduce me to your wife. Madame, I have always 
 had the greatest esteem for Demetrius Vasilievitch " 
 he corrected himself " for Nikanor Vasilievitch, and 
 am very happy at last to have the pleasure of making 
 your acquaintance. Imagine," he continued, turning 
 to Insaroff, "it was only yesterday evening that I 
 knew you were here. I m stopping at this hotel too. 
 What a glorious city this Venice is poetry, simple 
 poetry ! Only one thing is horrible, at every step 
 you meet those damned Austrians I cannot bear 
 them ! By the way, have you heard that there has 
 been a decisive engagement on the Danube ; 300 
 Turkish officers killed, Silistria taken, and Serbia s in 
 dependence already declared. Is it not true that you, 
 as a patriot, ought to be enthusiastic ? I too feel my 
 Sclavonic blood boiling within me ! But I advise you 
 to be more cautious ; I am told you are watched. 
 The spying system is carried on here to a frightful 
 extent. Only yesterday a suspicious-looking fellow 
 came up to me, and said, Are you a Russian ? I told 
 him that I was a Dane. But you seem to be very ill, 
 my dear Nikanor Vasilievitch. You must physic 
 yourself a little. Madame, you ought really to get 
 
On the Eve. 259 
 
 medical advice for your husband. Yesterday I was 
 running about like a madman, doing the palaces and 
 churches. I suppose you have been to the Doge s 
 palace. What magnificence everywhere ! Particu 
 larly that large saloon, and the place of Marino 
 Falieri, with the black veil and inscription, i Decap- 
 itati pro criminibus? I have been in the principal 
 prisons too, and there my soul was filled with indig 
 nation : you, perhaps, remember I always liked to oc 
 cupy myself with social questions and am a staunch 
 anti-aristocrat ; well, let those who defend the aris 
 tocracy just go and visit those dungeons. Byron has 
 well said, I stood in Venice, on the bridge of sighs J 
 though by the way Byron himself was an aristocrat. 
 I have always been for progress. All the young 
 generation is for progress. But this Anglo-French 
 alliance ! We shall see whether they will do much, 
 Napoleon and Palmerston. You know Palmerston is 
 made Prime Minister. No ; you may say what you 
 like, but a Russian fist is no joking matter. That 
 Napoleon is a terrible rogue ! If you like, I will lend 
 you Les Chatiments de Victor Hugo marvellous ! 
 Uavenir, le gendarme de Dieu, is somewhat daring in 
 its style, but it has strength, strength, great strength. 
 I am very fond of poetry. I have also got Proudhon s 
 last book ; in fact, I have everything. I do not know 
 what you think, but I am glad the war has begun ; 
 only, as I am not wanted at home, I mean to go from 
 here to Florence, and on to Rome : 1 cannot go to 
 
26c On the Eve. 
 
 France, so think of Spain ; charming women there, 
 only such terrible poverty and such swarms of in 
 sects ! I would be off to California one can t see 
 too much of the world but I have promised an ed 
 itor to study in detail the question of the Mediter 
 ranean trade. You will say it is not" an interesting 
 subject, too technical, but that is just what we Rus 
 sians want, special subjects, practical business sub 
 jects ; we have philosophised long enough. But 
 really, you are very unwell, Nikanor Vasilievitch, and 
 perhaps I tire you ; but all the same, you must let me 
 stop a little longer." 
 
 And in this fashion Lupoyaroff chattered on for 
 another hour, and when he did leave promised to 
 come again before long. 
 
 Insaroff was tired out with this unexpected visit, 
 and lay down on the sofa. " And that," he muttered 
 bitterly, as he looked up at Ellen, " is our rising gen 
 eration, our young Russia! They give themselves 
 grand airs, and talk mighty fine ; but it is all talk, and 
 there it ends." 
 
 Ellen made no reply. At that moment Insaroff s 
 weakness disquieted her far more than the follies of 
 all young Russia. She sat down by his side, and took 
 up her work. He shut his eyes, and lay motionless, 
 all pale and haggard. Ellen looked at his sharply 
 defined profile, his thin hands, and sudden fear seized 
 upon her heart. 
 
 " Demetrius, 1 she began. 
 
On the Eve. 261 
 
 He roused himself, but evidently with an effort. 
 " What is it ? Has Renditch arrived ? " 
 
 " Not yet ; but what do you think you are very 
 heated you are really not quite well would it not 
 be wiser to send for a doctor?" 
 
 "That fool s talk has frightened you. It is not 
 at all necessary. I will take a short nap, and shall 
 be all right again. After dinner we will go out again 
 somewhere or other." 
 
 Two hours passed. Insaroff was still lying on the 
 sofa, unable to sleep, though he kept his eyes closed. 
 Ellen remained by his side, her work had fallen from 
 her hands, and there she sat, her eyes fixed on her 
 husband s pale face. 
 
 " Why don t you go to sleep ? " she asked him at 
 last. 
 
 " Wait a little ; there ! " he said, taking one of her 
 hands, and placing it under his head ; " there ! that 
 is good ! But wake me the instant Renditch comes. 
 If he says the ship is ready, why, we can set off direct 
 ly. Perhaps we had better be packing up." 
 
 " Oh, that will not take long," answered Ellen. 
 
 " That man said something about a battle, about 
 Serbia," continued Insaroff, after a short silence j 
 " but I don t suppose it is true. We must however 
 be starting, the sooner the better. It will never do to 
 lose time. Be ready." 
 
 He fell asleep, and all was quiet in the room. 
 
 Ellen leaned her head on the back of the sofa, 
 
262 On the Eve. 
 
 and gazed wistfully toward the window. The weath 
 er had changed for the worse, and the wind was 
 rising. Large white clouds flitted across the sky, a 
 thin mast was rocking to and fro in the distance, a 
 long and narrow streamer with a red cross was flutter 
 ing in the breeze. The pendulum of the clock stand 
 ing on a side-table ticked loudly, and with a kind of 
 melancholy sound. Ellen s eyes were heavy, but it 
 was long before she fell asleep, and then her sleep 
 was broken and restless. 
 
 She had a strange and horrible dream. She 
 thought that she was in a boat on one of the Czarit- 
 china lakes, with some people who were unknown to 
 her. They were all silent and motionless ; no one 
 was rowing, but the boat moved onward of itself. 
 This did not strike Ellen as strange, but she was dull : 
 she longed to find out who these people were, and 
 why she was with them. She looked around her, and 
 the lake suddenly grew broader, and the shores re 
 tired farther and farther : it was no longer the lake, 
 but the wide and restless ocean. Its huge, azure, 
 dumb waves dashed against the frail and tiny boat; 
 something with a loud and terrible roar rose up from 
 the depths of the ocean; her unknown companions 
 suddenly leaped overboard with a hideous shrieking 
 and wringing of hands. Then for the first time Ellen 
 recognized them ; her father was one of them. A 
 white crest of foam flew along the summit of the 
 waves, and in an instant all was swallowed up. 
 
On the Eve. 263 
 
 Ellen looked about her; all the surroundings 
 were as before; but everywhere was snow, snow, end 
 less snow. And she was no longer in the boat, but 
 was travelling, as it were, from Moscow in a carriage : 
 she was not alone ; by her side was sitting a little 
 creature, wrapped up in an old cloak. Ellen looked 
 at her more attentively ; it was Kate, her poor friend 
 and playmate. A sudden fear fell upon Ellen. But 
 surely she died ? she thought to herself. " Kate, where 
 are we going so fast ? " Kate made no answer, but 
 muffled her face in the cloak, for she was shivering 
 with cold. Ellen too was cold. She looked out 
 along the road ; a city is glistening in the distance 
 through the drifting clouds of snow lofty white 
 towers with silvered pinnacles. Kate, Kate, is this 
 Moscow ? No, Ellen thought, that is a monastery ; 
 there are a number of dark, dark cells ; all is close 
 and damp there ; and there Demetrius is confined. 
 I must free him. Suddenly a grey yawning precipice 
 stretches before her. The carriage falls into it, but 
 Kate only laughs. " Ellen, Ellen ! " a voice is heard 
 to cry from the bottom of the precipice. 
 
 " Ellen ! JJ is heard, but this time clearly and dis 
 tinctly, close to her ear. She hurriedly raised her 
 head and was struck dumb with fright. Insaroff, 
 white as the snow in her dream., was leaning over the 
 sofa, gazing at her with his large, clear, glittering eyes. 
 His hair hung over his forehead, and his mouth was 
 wide open. Terror, mingled with an expression of 
 
264 On the Eve. 
 
 loving fear, was depicted on his suddenly transfigured 
 face. 
 
 " Ellen ! " he muttered, " I am dying." 
 
 With a cry she fell on her knees, and clung con 
 vulsively to his breast. 
 
 " It is all over," repeated Insaroff; " I am dying : 
 farewell, my poor wife ! farewell, my darling ! " And 
 saying this, he fell back on the sofa. 
 
 Ellen ran out of the room to call for aid, and a 
 servant was sent to summon a doctor. She came 
 back, and sat down at Insaroff s feet. 
 
 At that moment there appeared on the threshold 
 of the door a broad-shouldered, sunburnt stranger, 
 wearing a thick paletot and a low cloth cap. He 
 stood hesitatingly by the door. 
 
 " Renditch ! " cried Ellen " it is you ! For God s 
 sake, come in and see what is the matter with him ! 
 He is ill ! O God, O God, what is it ? He was out 
 only yesterday, and just now was talking with me." 
 
 Renditch made no answer, but gave way to a short 
 man in a wig and spectacles who hurried past with a 
 quick and noiseless step, up to the sofa. It was the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Signora," he said after a moment s silence, 
 " Monsieur is dead il signore forestieree morto of 
 aneurism, accompanied with an inflammation of the 
 lungs." 
 
On the Eve. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 DEPARTURE FROM VENICE. 
 
 ON the next day, in the same room, Renditch was 
 standing by the window : Ellen was sitting close 
 to him, wrapped up in a warm shawl. In the adjoin 
 ing room Insaroff was laid out in his coffin. Ellen s 
 face wore a frightened and lifeless expression ; the 
 forehead, between the brows, was deeply wrinkled, 
 which gave a strained and sharp look to her dull fixed 
 eyes. On the window-ledge was lying an opened let 
 ter from Anne Vasilievna. She invited her daughter 
 to Moscow, if it were only for a month ; complained 
 of her loneliness, and still more bitterly of Nicholas 
 Artemvitch ; begged to be remembered to Insaroff, 
 inquired after his health, and prayed him to let his 
 wife come and see her. 
 
 Renditch was a Dalmatian, a seaman by profes 
 sion, whose acquaintance Insaroff had made during 
 his last visit to Bulgaria, and whom he had been wait 
 ing for in Venice. He was of a taciturn tempera 
 ment, unpolished in his bearing, very courageous, and 
 devoted heart and soul to the Sclavonic cause. Ho 
 despised the Turks, and hated the Austrians. 
 
266 On the Eve. 
 
 " How long do you mean to stay in Venice ? " 
 Ellen asked him in Italian ; and her voice was as 
 lifeless as her countenance. 
 
 " A day, to get the cargo on board, and not to 
 arouse suspicion. I shall have heavy news for our 
 fellow-countrymen. They have been waiting for him 
 a long time, and had great confidence in him." 
 
 " They had great confidence in him," Ellen re 
 peated mechanically. 
 
 " When shall you bury him ? " Renditch asked. 
 
 Ellen did not answer at once. " To-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ? then I will wait : I should like to 
 throw a handful of earth into his grave. Perhaps 
 too, I can be of use to you. But it were better to lay 
 him in Sclavonic earth." 
 
 Ellen looked up at Renditch. " Captain," she 
 said, " take me with him, and bring us to the other 
 side of the sea, away from here ; or is it impossible ? " 
 
 Renditch thought for a while. " It is possible but 
 difficult. We shall have to manage these damned 
 authorities here. But suppose we succeed in burying 
 him there, how shall I get you back again ? " 
 
 " It will not be necessary for you to send me 
 back. 
 
 " How ? Where will you stop then ? " 
 
 " I shall find a place somewhere or other. Only 
 take us, take me." 
 
 " Renditch rubbed his chin thoughtfully. " Good 
 but there will be a terrible fuss. However, I will go 
 
On the Eve. 267 
 
 and see about it. You wait for me here. I shall be 
 back in two hours time." 
 
 He left Ellen alone. She went softly into the ad 
 joining room, and, leaning wearily against the wall, 
 stood for a long time motionless like a statue. Then 
 she fell on her knees, but could not pray. She did 
 not feel rebellious against the will of Providence : she 
 did not care to question God as to why He had been so 
 merciless, so pitiless, so slow to succour ; did not care 
 to ask why He had visited the sin, if sin there were, 
 more heavily than it deserved. Each one of us sins 
 in that he merely lives ; nor is there a great thinker 
 or benefactor of humanity, who, by reason of his wis 
 dom or by reason of his goodness, can believe that 
 he has a right to live. But Ellen could not pray; 
 she was without life, without feeling. 
 
 In the middle of the night a large broad boat was 
 pushed off from the hotel where the Insaroffs were 
 staying. Ellen and Renditch were sitting in the boat, 
 and close to them there stood a long box, covered 
 with black cloth. After about an hour s rowing they 
 pulled up by the side of a small two-masted ship, which 
 was lying at anchor at the entrance of the harbor. 
 Ellen and Renditch went on board, and some sailors 
 hoisted up the box. Towards the morning a storm 
 arose, but the ship quickly made her way down the 
 Lido. In the course of the day the storm grew more 
 violent, aud the old sailors shook their heads, and 
 boded no g*:od. The Adriatic Sea between Venice, 
 
268 On the Eve. 
 
 Trieste, and Dalmatia is extremely rough and danger 
 ous. 
 
 Within three weeks of Ellen s departure from 
 Venice, Anne Vasilievna received the following letter 
 in Moscow : 
 
 " MY DEAR PARENTS : 
 
 " I write to bid you good-bye for ever. You will 
 never see me again. Demetrius died yesterday. All is finished, 
 and I have nothing more to live for. To-day I start for Zara 
 with his body. I shall bury him there, but what 1 shall do after 
 wards I do not know. Now I have no country, except his. 
 There a general rising is preparing, war will soon break out, and 
 I can engage myself as a sister of mercy, to attend the sick and 
 wounded. I do not know what will become of me ; but now 
 that Demetrius is dead, I must remain faithful to his memory, 
 to the cause to which he devoted his life. I have learned Bul 
 garian and Serbian. It may be that I shall not survive all this ; 
 so much the better. I have been brought to the edge of the 
 abyss ; God grant that I may fall into it. It is not in vain that 
 fate united us together : who knows but that I may have caused 
 his death ? it is now his turn to call me to share his destiny. I 
 sought happiness and shall find, it may be, death. I can see 
 now it was to be ; I can see now where the sin was. But death 
 covers all offences, and atones for all ; does it not ? Pardon me 
 the sorrow I have caused you ; it was not voluntarily. But to 
 return to Russia for what ? What have I to do in Russia ? 
 accept my last kiss, my last remembrances. Do not blame me, 
 or judge me harshly. E." 
 
On the Eve. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 NEARLY five years have passed away since that 
 letter was written from Venice, and nothing 
 further has ever been heard of Ellen. Letters written 
 from home have remained unanswered and all inquiries 
 have proved fruitless. It was to no purpose that 
 Nicholas Artemvitch himself went to Venice, and 
 thence after the conclusion of the war to Zara : in 
 Venice he only learned what the reader already knows, 
 and in Zara he could meet with no one who was able 
 to give him any positive information respecting either 
 Renditch, or the ship in which he and Ellen had set 
 sail from Venice. There were indeed mysterious ru 
 mors of the sea, during a heavy storm some four or 
 five years back, having washed ashore a black coffin, 
 in which was found the corpse of a man. But ac 
 cording to other and more trustworthy reports, this 
 coffin was not washed ashore by the sea, but was 
 brought and buried near the sea-shore by a foreign 
 lady who had just arrived from Venice : some even 
 added, that she had been later seen at Herzhaven 
 with the army that was then being levied, and they 
 
270 On the Eve. 
 
 also described her as being dressed in black from 
 head to foot. However all this may be, every trace 
 of Ellen has been lost, and no one knows whether she 
 is living, whether she has sought refuge in some dis 
 tant and foreign land, whether the short comedy of 
 life has been played out, her brief troubles ended, 
 and death in its turn has come to make its claim. It 
 will often happen that a man, with involuntary appre 
 hension, asks himself, Can it be that I am already 
 thirty forty fifty years old? How is it that life 
 passes so quickly ? How is it that death presses so 
 closely upon us ? Death is like a fisherman who has 
 caught some fish in his net, but leaves it for a while 
 in the water ; the fish still swims about and fancies 
 itself to be free, but the net encircles it, and the fisher 
 man seizes hold of it whenever the fancy takes him. 
 
 A few words remain to be said concerning the 
 other personages of our story. 
 
 Anne Vasilievna is still living : she has aged very 
 much since her daughter s disappearance, and, though 
 she complains less than before, is much more wretch 
 ed and miserable. Nicholas Artemvitch has also 
 grown older and weaker ; his quarrels with Angustina 
 are more frequent now than formerly. Indeed, of 
 late he rarely, if ever, visits her. He is terribly bitter 
 against everything foreign. His housekeeper, a 
 pretty Russian woman of about thirty, goes about in 
 the finest silk dresses, and wears a gold chain and 
 earrings. ^ Cournatovsky, as is generally the case with 
 
On the Eve. 271 
 
 dark-complexioned men, had a great weakness for 
 pretty blondines, and married the fair Zoe, who in all 
 respects was such an obedient and submissive wife, 
 that she even left off thinking in German. Bersien- 
 eff resides in Heidelberg; he has been more than 
 once sent abroad by the government on scientific ex 
 peditions, and has visited Berlin and Paris. The time 
 he thus spent abroad was not lost, and there is every 
 chance of his turning out an admirable professor. 
 Two articles on ancient German law and punishment, 
 published by him, attracted considerable attention in 
 the learned world ; it is only to be regretted that they 
 were written in rather a heavy style, and disfigured 
 by foreign idioms. Shoubine is at Rome : he has 
 long devoted himself exclusively to his art, and is al 
 ready considered to be one of the most promising of 
 our young sculptors. It is true that purists find that 
 he has not sufficiently studied the ancients, and is 
 deficient in style ; they accordingly place him in the 
 French school ; but, on the other hand, the English 
 and Americans are very liberal in their patronage of 
 the young Russian sculptor. During the last season, 
 his Bacchante made a great noise ; a Russian, Count 
 Boboschkine, a well-known rich connoisseur, pro 
 posed to buy it for a thousand scudi, but at the last 
 moment changed his mind, and gave three thousand 
 to another sculptor, a Frenchman pur sang, for a 
 statuette representing "A young villager dying of 
 love on the breast of the Genius of Spring." Shou- 
 
272 On the Eve. 
 
 bine now and then corresponds with Urban Ivan- 
 ovitch, who is the same as ever, and not in the least 
 changed. " Do you remember," he wrote to him not 
 long ago, " what you told me that night when I brought 
 you the news of poor Ellen s marriage, when I sat on 
 your bed and chatted I do not know how long with 
 you ? Do you remember, I then asked you whether 
 the time would ever come when there should be men 
 among us ? and you answered : Wait a little, there 
 will be. Oh, sage and solid reasoner ! And so now, 
 from this my distant home, I once more ask you, Tell 
 me, good Urban, will your prophecy ever come true ? " 
 Urban Ivanovitch, as he read these lines, played 
 with his fingers, and with a puzzled glance looked out 
 of the window of his room. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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