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 Jniversity of C{ 
 Southern Reg]
 
 ' LIBRARY ^ 
 
 UNfVCWiTY OF 
 CALI#OIINIA 
 . SAN MMO
 
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 IVAN TURGENIEFF 
 
 Volume XII 
 
 FIRST LOVEISIAND 
 OTHER STORIES l^lSi
 
 THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF 
 IVAN TURGENIEFF 
 
 FIRST LOVE •♦•AND 
 OTHER STORIES 4. 4. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY 
 ISABEL F. HAPGOOD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1904
 
 Copyright,. 1904, by 
 Charles Scribner's Soks
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The novel " First Love " was TurgenieiF's fa- 
 vourite work, as he more than once confessed. 
 What the author prized in this purely intimate 
 but beautifully finished story was its fidelity to 
 actuality; that is to say, he prized the personal 
 recollections of early youth. In that respect this 
 story has a prominent interest for readers, since 
 it narrates — according to the testimony of the 
 author — an actual fact in his life, and that with- 
 out the slightest artificial colouring.^ To what 
 degree TurgenieiF's testimony is credible, re- 
 marks one critic, is a question which can be rightly 
 decided only by biographical documents. Fa- 
 mous writers are particularly inclined by nature 
 to romantic coquetry with their own personali- 
 ties — a characteristic which was, apparently, to 
 some extent, inherent in TurgeniefF, despite his 
 renowned modesty. Famous writers are fond 
 of leading their contemporaries— and still more 
 posterity— astray with regard to the reflection 
 of intimate details of their hves in their artistic 
 
 1 The well-known poet YdkofF Petrovitch Polonsky is the authority 
 for this statement, in his " Recollections of Turg^nieff," printed in 
 the early numbers of the Niva for 1884.— Translator.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 works. . . . At any rate, Russian artistic pro- 
 ductions, in which the authors have endeavoured 
 to set forth biographical details, must be scruti- 
 nised with extreme cautiousness. The author, 
 while imagining that he is thoroughly sincere, 
 may involuntarily indulge in inventions con- 
 cerning himself. But in its literary aspect this 
 story indubitably is one of TurgeniefF's master- 
 pieces, and in it the original character of its chief 
 heroine. Princess Zinaida Zasyekin, is depicted 
 with remarkable clearness and charm. . . . The 
 artist threw off this light and elegant little in- 
 timate study by way of relaxation after " On 
 the Eve," a romance dealing with a broad social 
 problem, and by way of preparation for a new 
 work, still more serious in intention, " Fathers 
 and Children." 
 
 " First Love " does not contain any social 
 types, does not deal with any social problems. It 
 consists wholly, so to speak, of poetry. The 
 young Princess is one of the author's most poet- 
 ical creations. Her character is depicted with 
 marvellous grace and elegance in the Httle scenes 
 which exert so great an influence over her six- 
 teen-year-old admirer. In this young man's 
 father Turgenieff sketched his own father, who 
 did not love his wife, and whose domestic rela- 
 tions were identical with those here described. 
 His wife was considerably younger than he, and 
 he had married her for her money. One curious 
 
 vi
 
 PREFACE 
 
 detail concerns the Pole, Malevsky. This " du- 
 bious Count, swindler, and, in general, dirty lit- 
 tle gentleman," as one critic expresses it, " drawn 
 with great artistic vivacity, and with unconcealed 
 scorn, is a very typical figure ; and such repulsive 
 Poles were formerly encountered in great num- 
 bers in Holy Russia, — and are still to be met with. 
 In this character are concentrated the unpleasant 
 characteristics of the Polish national character: 
 spiritual deceitfulness, double-facedness, insig- 
 nificance, courtliness, and a tendency to revolting 
 intrigue." 
 
 In " A Correspondence " we again encounter 
 one of TurgeniefF's favourite types, the super- 
 fluous man. But the author has taken a stride 
 in advance with Alexyei Petrovitch. In this case 
 the superfluous man does not blame either the in- 
 sipidity of life, or society, or people alone, — he 
 blames himself. In Marya Alexandrovna's 
 friend and correspondent we behold a good and 
 worthy man, cultured in both mind and heart, — 
 but, like many others among Turgeniefl"s heroes, 
 suff'ering, so to speak, from a malady of the will. 
 One critic declares that this story is almost iden- 
 tical, on its exterior, with " Riidin." One of the 
 Russian representatives of " the loftiest aspira- 
 tions " enters into correspondence with a young 
 girl who, as people were fond of expressing it 
 at that period, belonged among the " choice na- 
 tures." Disillusioned with life, she is ready to 
 
 • • 
 
 Vll
 
 PREFACE 
 
 submit to the conditions which encompass her. 
 Under the influence of an ill-defined impulse of 
 affection and sympathy toward this young girl, 
 the hero begins to inflate her sense of being an 
 elect person, and to stir up her energy to contend 
 with the humdrum circle in which she dwells. 
 Just at the moment when he has awakened her 
 courage and her hope that he will join her in 
 this conflict, he stumbles and falls himself, in the 
 most pusillanimous manner. His will is ailing. 
 
 Another point worth noting is that in the 
 heroine's third letter the note of the so-called 
 " woman's question " is sounded with remarkable 
 feeling and force. 
 
 The explanation vouchsafed by one critic for 
 the prevalence of weak men in Turgeniefl"s ro- 
 mances, in connection with " A Correspondence," 
 is that the author did not depict strong natures 
 simply because he did not find suitable material 
 for that purpose in the circle which surrounded 
 him. He was determined to draw the best men 
 of his time as he found them — that is to say, men 
 addicted to self -conviction, fiery in language, but 
 weak in resolution. 
 
 " The Region of Dead Calm " was written 
 while Turgeniefl" was forbidden to leave his es- 
 tate at Spasskoe-Lutovinovo, after his release 
 from the imprisonment wherewith he was pun- 
 ished for having published in Moscow a eulogy 
 of Gogol which the St. Petersburg censor had 
 
 viii
 
 PREFACE 
 
 prohibited. His idea that all men are divided 
 into two categories which, respectively, possess 
 more or less of the characteristics of Hamlet and 
 of Don Quixote, is illustrated again in this story 
 by VeretyefF, who ruins his talents and his life 
 with hquor. 
 
 On the other hand, as one critic says, " posi- 
 tively, in the whole of Russian literature, we do 
 not meet elsewhere such a grand, massive, severe, 
 and somewhat coarse woman as Marya Pav- 
 lovna." Masha is the first woman in Russian 
 literature to look upon man as a worker, and 
 to treat him with intelligent exaction. Another 
 strange characteristic in a young lady of the re- 
 mote country districts is Masha's dislike for 
 " sweet " poetry. Her suicide is not a proof that 
 her character was weak. And of the two weak 
 men in the story, AstakhoiF is the weaker, the 
 more colourless, in every way — as to character, 
 not as to the author's portraiture. 
 
 The pictures of country life among the landed 
 gentry are drawn with great charm and delicate 
 humour. 
 
 That Turgenieff was affected, and very sensi- 
 bly so, by the lack of comprehension evinced by 
 both critics and readers toward his great work 
 " Fathers and Children," is evident, in part, from 
 the characteristic lyrical fragment, "It is 
 Enough." It is filled with mournful pessimism 
 of a romantic sort, which strongly recalls the pes- 
 
 ix
 
 PREFACE 
 
 simism of Leopardi. A certain element of comedy- 
 is imparted to this sentimental outpouring by the 
 fact that the author fancied ( and, probably, with 
 entire sincerity) that he bore a strong resem- 
 blance in his convictions to Bazaroff, his creation. 
 Dostoievsky depicted this comic element very 
 caustically, in the most malicious of parodies on 
 TurgeniefF in general and on "It is Enough " 
 and " Phantoms " in particular. This parody 
 is contained in his romance " Devils," and consti- 
 tutes one of the most venomous pages in that de- 
 cidedly venomous romance. The following is an 
 excerpt: " In the meantime, the mist swirled and 
 swirled, and swirled round and round until it 
 bore more resemblance to a million pillows than 
 to mist. And suddenly everything vanishes, and 
 a great Genius crosses the Volga in winter, dur- 
 ing a thaw. Two and a half pages about this 
 transit. But, notwithstanding, he tumbles into a 
 hole in the ice. The Genius goes to the bottom. 
 Do you think he drowns? Not a bit of it! All 
 this is for the sake, after he is completely foun- 
 dered and is beginning to choke, of making a 
 block of ice, a tiny block, about the size of a pea, 
 but clear and transparent, float past him ' like 
 a frozen tear ' ; and on that block of ice Ger- 
 many, or, to put it more accurately, the sky of 
 Germany, is reflected; and by the rainbow play 
 of that reflection it reminds him of the tear which 
 —dost thou remember?— trickled from thine eyes
 
 PREFACE 
 
 when we sat under the emerald tree, and thou 
 didst joyfully exclaim: 'There is no crime!'— 
 * Yes ! ' said I through my tears ; ' but if that is 
 so, then assuredly there are no righteous men 
 either.' We fell to sobbing and parted forever." 
 " The Dog " was first published in the feuille- 
 ton of the Petersburg News, No. 85, 1865. It 
 is generally admitted to be one of TurgeniefF's 
 weak and unsuccessful works. But one critic 
 describes how enthralling it was when the author 
 narrated it (in advance of publication) to a 
 group of friends in Moscow, and what a deep im- 
 pression it made upon them. " When I read it 
 afterward in print," he says, " it seemed to me 
 a pale copy of Turgenieff's verbal narration. 
 One was impressed with the idea that, when he sat 
 down to write it, he was overcome with apprehen- 
 sion lest his readers and critics should suppose 
 that he believed in this mysterious adventure. 
 But conviction on the part of the author— in ap- 
 pearance at least— is precisely what is required 
 in such cases. He told the tale with enthusiasm, 
 and even turned pale, and his face assumed a cast 
 of fear at the dramatic points." The critic adds 
 that he could not get to sleep for hours afterward. 
 
 I. F. H. 
 
 XI
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 FIRST LOVE 1 
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 113 
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 169 
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 301 
 
 THE DOG 323
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 (I860)
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 THE guests had long since departed. The 
 clock had struck half -past twelve. There 
 remained in the room only the host, Sergyei Niko- 
 laevitch, and Vladimir Petrovitch. 
 
 The host rang and ordered the remains of the 
 supper to be removed. — " So then, the matter is 
 settled," — he said, ensconcing himself more 
 deeply in his arm-chair, and lighting a cigar: — 
 " each of us is to narrate the history of his first 
 love. 'T is your turn, Sergyei Nikolaevitch." 
 
 Sergyei Nikolaevitch, a rather corpulent man, 
 with a plump, fair-skinned face, first looked at the 
 host, then raised his eyes to the ceiling. — " I had 
 no first love," — he began at last: — " I began 
 straight off with the second." 
 
 "How was that?" 
 
 " Very simply. I was eighteen years of age 
 when, for the first time, I dangled after a very 
 charming young lady ; but I courted her as though 
 it were no new thing to me: exactly as I courted 
 others afterward. To tell the truth, I fell in love, 
 for the first and last time, at the age of six, with 
 my nurse ;— but that is a very long time ago. The 
 details of our relations have been erased from my 
 
 3
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 memory; but even if I remembered them, who 
 would be interested in them? " 
 
 " Then what are we to do? "—began the host. 
 — " There was nothing very starthng about my 
 first love either ; I never fell in love with any one 
 before Anna Ivanovna, now my wife ; and every- 
 thing ran as though on oil with us; our fathers 
 made up the match, we very promptly fell in love 
 with each other, and entered the bonds of matri- 
 mony without delay. My story can be told in two 
 words. I must confess, gentlemen, that in rais- 
 ing the question of first love, I set my hopes on 
 you, I will not say old, but yet no longer young 
 bachelors. Will not you divert us with some- 
 thing, Vladimir Petrovitch? " 
 
 " My first love belongs, as a matter of fact, not 
 altogether to the ordinary category," — replied, 
 with a slight hesitation, Vladimir Petrovitch, a 
 man of forty, whose black hair was sprinkled with 
 grey. 
 
 "Ah!" — said the host and Sergyei Nikolae- 
 vitch in one breath. — " So much the better. . . . 
 Tell us." 
 
 " As you like . . . . or no: I will not narrate; 
 I am no great hand at telling a story ; it turns out 
 dry and short, or long-drawn-out and artificial. 
 But if you will permit me, I will write down all 
 that I remember in a note-book, and will read it 
 aloud to you." 
 
 At first the friends would not consent, but 
 
 4
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Vladimir Petrovitch insisted on having his own 
 way. A fortnight later they came together 
 again, and Vladimir Sergyeitch kept his promise. 
 This is what his note-book contained. 
 
 I WAS sixteen years old at the time. The affair 
 took place in the summer of 1833. 
 
 I was living in Moscow, in my parents' house. 
 They had hired a villa near the Kaluga barrier, 
 opposite the Neskiitchny Park.^ — I was prepar- 
 ing for the university, but was working very little 
 and was not in a hurry. 
 
 No one restricted my freedom. I had done 
 whatever I pleased ever since I had parted with 
 my last French governor, who was utterly unable 
 to reconcile himself to the thought that he had 
 fallen " like a bomb " (comme une homhe) into 
 Russia, and with a stubborn expression on his 
 face, wallowed in bed for whole days at a time. 
 My father treated me in an indifferently-affec- 
 tionate way; my mother paid hardly any atten- 
 tion to me, although she had no children except 
 me : other cares engrossed her. My father, still a 
 young man and very handsome, had married her 
 
 1 The finest of the public parks in Moscow, situated near the fa- 
 mous Sparrow Hills, is called " Neskiitchny " — " Not Tiresome," gen- 
 erally rendered "Sans Souci." It contains an imperial residence, 
 the Alexander Palace, used as an official summer home by the Gov- 
 ernor-General of Moscow.— Translatoe.
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 from calculation ; she was ten years older than he. 
 My mother led a melancholy life : she was inces- 
 santly in a state of agitation, jealousy, and wrath 
 — but not in the presence of my father; she was 
 very much afraid of him, and he maintained a 
 stern, cold, and distant manner. . . I have never 
 seen a man more exquisitely calm, self-confident, 
 and self -controlled. 
 
 I shall never forget the first weeks I spent at 
 the villa. The weather was magnificent; we had 
 left town the ninth of May, on St. Nicholas's day. 
 I rambled,— sometimes in the garden of our villa, 
 sometimes in Neskutchny Park, sometimes be- 
 yond the city barriers ; I took with me some book 
 or other,— a course of KaidanofF,— but rarely 
 opened it, and chiefly recited aloud poems, of 
 which I knew a great many by heart. The blood 
 was fermenting in me, and my heart was aching 
 — so sweetly and absurdly; I was always waiting 
 for something, shrinking at something, and won- 
 dering at everything, and was all ready for any- 
 thing at a moment's notice. My fancy was be- 
 ginning to play, and hovered swiftly ever around 
 the selfsame image, as martins hover round a 
 belfry at sunset. But even athwart my tears 
 and athwart the melancholy, inspired now by a 
 melodious verse, now by the beauty of the even- 
 ing, there peered forth, like grass in springtime, 
 the joyous sensation of young, bubbling life. 
 
 I had a saddle-horse ; I was in the habit of sad- 
 
 6
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 dling it myself, and when I rode off alone as far 
 as possible, in some direction, launching out at a 
 gallop and fancying myself a knight at a tourney 
 — how blithely the wind whistled in my ears! — Or, 
 turning my face skyward, I welcomed its beam- 
 ing light and azure into my open soul. 
 
 I remember, at that time, the image of woman, 
 the phantom of woman's love, almost never en- 
 tered my mind in clearly -defined outlines; but in 
 everything I thought, in everything I felt, there 
 lay hidden the half -conscious, shamefaced pre- 
 sentiment of something new, inexpressibly sweet, 
 feminine .... 
 
 This presentiment, this expectation permeated 
 my whole being ; I breathed it, it coursed through 
 my veins in every drop of blood .... it was 
 fated to be speedily realised. 
 
 Our villa consisted of a wooden manor-house 
 with columns, and two tiny outlying wings ; in the 
 wing to the left a tiny factory of cheap wall- 
 papers was installed. . . . More than once I 
 went thither to watch how half a score of gaunt, 
 dishevelled young fellows in dirty smocks and 
 with tipsy faces were incessantly galloping about 
 at the wooden levers which jammed down the 
 square blocks of the press, and in that manner, by 
 the weight of their puny bodies, printed the mot- 
 ley-hued patterns of the wall-papers. The wing 
 on the right stood empty and was for rent. One 
 day— three weeks after the ninth of May— the 
 
 7
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 shutters on the windows of this wing were opened, 
 and women's faces made their appearance in 
 them ; some family or other had moved into it. I 
 remember how, that same day at dinner, my 
 mother inquired of the butler who our new neigh- 
 bours were, and on hearing the name of Princess 
 Zasyekin, said at first, not without some respect: 
 — " Ah! a Princess " . . . . and then she added:— 
 " She must be some poor person! " 
 
 " They came in three hired carriages, ma'am," 
 —remarked the butler, as he respectfully pre- 
 sented a dish. " They have no carriage of their 
 own, ma'am, and their furniture is of the very 
 plainest sort." 
 
 " Yes,"— returned my mother,—" and never- 
 theless, it is better so." 
 
 My father shot a cold glance at her; she sub- 
 sided into silence. 
 
 As a matter of fact. Princess Zasyekin could 
 not be a wealthy woman: the wing she had hired 
 was so old and tiny and low-roofed that people 
 in the least well-to-do would not have been will- 
 ing to inhabit it. — However, I let this go in at one 
 ear and out at the other. The princely title had 
 little effect on me: I had recently been reading 
 Schiller's " The Brigands." 
 
 8
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 II 
 
 I HAD a habit of prowling about our garden every 
 evening, gun in hand, and standing guard against 
 the crows. — I had long cherished a hatred for 
 those wary, rapacious and crafty birds. On the 
 day of which I have been speaking, I went into 
 the garden as usual, and, after having fruitlessly 
 made the round of all the alleys (the crows recog- 
 nised me from afar, and merely cawed spasmodi- 
 cally at a distance) , I accidentally approached the 
 low fence which separated our territory from the 
 narrow strip of garden extending behind the 
 right-hand wing and appertaining to it. I was 
 walking along with drooping head. Suddenly I 
 heard voices: I glanced over the fence — and was 
 
 petrified A strange spectacle presented 
 
 itself to me. 
 
 A few paces distant from me, on a grass-plot 
 between green raspberry-bushes, stood a tall, 
 graceful young girl, in a striped, pink frock and 
 with a white kerchief on her head; around her 
 pressed four young men, and she was tapping 
 them in turn on the brow with those small grey 
 flowers, the name of which I do not know, but 
 which are familiar to children ; these little flowers 
 form tiny sacs, and burst with a pop when they 
 are struck against anything hard. The young 
 men ofl'ered their foreheads to her so willingly, 
 
 9
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 and in the girl's movements (I saw her form in 
 profile) there was something so bewitching, ca- 
 ressing, mocking, and charming, that I almost 
 cried aloud in wonder and pleasure ; and I believe 
 I would have given everything in the world if 
 those lovely little fingers had only consented to 
 tap me on the brow. My gun slid down on the 
 grass, I forgot everything, I devoured with my 
 eyes that slender waist, and the neck and the beau- 
 tiful arms, and the slightly ruffled fair hair, the 
 intelligent eyes and those lashes, and the delicate 
 cheek beneath them. . . . 
 
 "Young man, hey there, young man!"— 
 suddenly spoke up a voice near me: — " Is it 
 permissible to stare like that at strange young 
 ladies?" 
 
 I trembled all over, I was stupefied Be- 
 side me, on the other side of the fence, stood a man 
 with closely-clipped black hair, gazing ironically 
 at me. At that same moment, the young girl 
 turned toward me. ... I beheld huge grey eyes 
 in a mobile, animated face — and this whole face 
 suddenly began to quiver, and to laugh, and the 
 white teeth gleamed from it, the brows elevated 
 themselves in an amusing way. ... I flushed, 
 picked up my gun from the ground, and, pursued 
 by ringing but not malicious laughter, I ran to 
 my own room, flung myself on the bed, and cov- 
 ered my face with my hands. My heart was 
 fairly leaping within me; I felt very much 
 
 10
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ashamed and very merry: I experienced an un- 
 precedented emotion. 
 
 After I had rested awhile, I brushed my hair, 
 made myself neat and went down-stairs to tea. 
 The image of the young girl floated in front of 
 me ; my heart had ceased to leap, but ached in an 
 agreeable sort of way. 
 
 " What ails thee? "—my father suddenly asked 
 me; — " hast thou killed a crow? " 
 
 I was on the point of telling him all, but re- 
 frained and only smiled to myself. As I was pre- 
 paring for bed, I whirled round thrice on one 
 foot, I know not why, pomaded my hair, got into 
 bed and slept all night like a dead man. Toward 
 morning I awoke for a moment, raised my head, 
 cast a glance of rapture around me — and fell 
 asleep again. 
 
 Ill 
 
 *' How am I to get acquainted with them? " was 
 my first thought, as soon as I awoke in the morn- 
 ing. I went out into the garden before tea, but 
 did not approach too close to the fence, and saw 
 no one. After tea I walked several times up and 
 down the street in front of the villa, and cast a 
 distant glance at the windows. ... I thought I 
 descried her face behind the curtains, and re- 
 treated with all possible despatch, " But I must 
 get acquainted," — I thought, as I walked with ir- 
 
 11
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 regular strides up and down the sandy stretch 
 which extends in front of the Neskiitchny Park 
 . . . . " but how? that is the question." I re- 
 called the most trifling incidents of the meeting 
 on the previous evening; for some reason, her 
 manner of laughing at me presented itself to me 
 with particular clearness. . . . But while I was 
 fretting thus and constructing various plans, Fate 
 was already providing for me. 
 
 During my absence, my mother had received a 
 letter from her new neighbour on grey paper 
 sealed with brown wax, such as is used only on 
 postal notices, and on the corks of cheap wine. 
 In this letter, written in illiterate language, and 
 with a slovenly chirography, the Princess re- 
 quested my mother to grant her her protection: 
 my mother, according to the Princess's words, was 
 well acquainted with the prominent people on 
 whom the fortune of herself and her children de- 
 pended, as she had some extremely important 
 law-suits: "I apeal tyou," — she wrote, — "as a 
 knoble woman to a knoble woman, and moarover, 
 it is agriable to me to makeus of this oportunity." 
 In conclusion, she asked permission of my mother 
 to call upon her. I found my mother in an un- 
 pleasant frame of mind: my father was not at 
 home, and she had no one with whom to take 
 counsel. It was impossible not to reply to a 
 " knoble woman," and to a Princess into the bar- 
 gain; but how to reply perplexed my mother. 
 
 12
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 It seemed to her ill-judged to write a note 
 in French, and my mother was not strong in Rus- 
 sian orthography herself — and was aware of the 
 fact— and did not wish to compromise herself. 
 She was delighted at my arrival, and immediately 
 ordered me to go to the Princess and explain to 
 her verbally that my mother was always ready, 
 to the extent of her ability, to be of service to Her 
 Radiance,^ and begged that she would call upon 
 her about one o'clock. 
 
 This unexpectedly swift fulfilment of my se- 
 cret wishes both delighted and frightened me ; but 
 I did not betray the emotion which held posses- 
 sion of me, and preliminarily betook myself to 
 my room for the purpose of donning a new neck- 
 cloth and coat ; at home I went about in a round- 
 jacket and turn-over collars, although I detested 
 them greatly. 
 
 IV 
 
 In the cramped and dirty anteroom of the wing, 
 which I entered with an involuntary trembling of 
 my whole body, I was received by a grey-haired 
 old serving-man with a face the hue of dark cop- 
 per, pig-like, surly little eyes, and such deep wrin- 
 kles on his forehead as I had never seen before 
 in my life. He was carrying on a platter the 
 
 1 Princes, princesses, counts, and countesses have the title of Siyd- 
 telslvo (siydm— to shine, to be radiant); generally translated "Illus- 
 trious Highness" or "Serenity."— Translator. 
 
 18
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 gnawed spinal bone of a herring, and, pushing to 
 with his foot the door which led into the adjoining 
 room, he said abruptly:—" What do j^ou want? " 
 
 " Is Princess Zasyekin at home? " — I inquired. 
 
 "Vonifaty!" — screamed a quavering female 
 voice on the other side of the door. 
 
 The servant silently turned his back on me, 
 thereby displaying the badly-worn rear of his 
 livery with its solitary, rusted, armouried button, 
 and went away, leaving the platter on the floor. 
 
 " Hast thou been to the police-station? " — went 
 on that same feminine voice. The servant mut- 
 tered something in reply. — " Hey? .... Some 
 one has come?" — was the next thing audible. 
 . . . . " The young gentleman from next door? 
 — Well, ask him in." 
 
 " Please come into the drawing-room, sir," — 
 said the servant, making his appearance again 
 before me, and picking up the platter from the 
 floor. I adjusted my attire and entered the 
 " drawing-room." 
 
 I found myself in a tiny and not altogether 
 clean room, with shabby furniture which seemed 
 to have been hastily set in place. At the window, 
 in an easy-chair with a broken arm, sat a woman 
 of fifty, with uncovered hair ^ and plain-featured, 
 clad in an old green gown, and with a variegated 
 
 ^ The custom still prevails in Russia, to a great extent, for all 
 elderly women to wear caps. In the peasant class it is considered as 
 extremely indecorous to go "simple-haired," as the expression runs 
 — Translatcr. 
 
 14
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 worsted kerchief round her neck. Her small 
 black eyes fairly bored into me. 
 
 I went up to her and made my bow. 
 
 " I have the honour of speaking to Princess 
 Zasyekin? " 
 
 " I am Princess Zasyekin: and you are the son 
 of Mr. B-?" 
 
 " Yes, madam. I have come to you with a mes- 
 sage from my mother." 
 
 "Pray be seated. Vonifaty! where are my 
 keys? Hast thou seen them? " 
 
 I communicated to Madame Zasyekin my mo- 
 ther's answer to her note. She listened to me, 
 tapping the window-pane with her thick, red 
 fingers, and when I had finished she riveted her 
 eyes on me once more. 
 
 " Very good; I shall certainly go,"— said she at 
 last.—" But how young you are still! How old 
 are you, allow me to ask? " 
 
 " Sixteen," — I replied with involuntary hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 The Princess pulled out of her pocket some 
 dirty, written documents, raised them up to her 
 very nose and began to sort them over. 
 
 " 'T is a good age,"— she suddenly articulated, 
 turning and fidgeting in her chair. — " And please 
 do not stand on ceremony. We are plain folks." 
 
 " Too plain,"— I thought, with involuntary 
 disgust taking in with a glance the whole of her 
 homely figure. 
 
 15
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 At that moment, the other door of the drawing- 
 room was swiftly thrown wide open, and on the 
 threshold appeared the young girl whom I had 
 seen in the garden the evening before. She 
 raised her hand and a smile flitted across her face. 
 
 *' And here is my daughter,"— said the Prin- 
 cess, pointing at her with her elbow.—" Zino- 
 tchka, the son of our neighbour, Mr. B— . What 
 is your name, permit me to inquire? " 
 
 " Vladimir," — I replied, rising and lisping with 
 agitation. 
 
 " And your patronymic? " 
 
 " Petrovitch." 
 
 " Yes ! I once had an acquaintance, a chief of 
 police, whose name was Vladimir Petrovitch also. 
 Vonifaty! don't hunt for the keys; the keys are 
 in my pocket." 
 
 The young girl continued to gaze at me with 
 the same smile as before, slightly puckering up 
 her eyes and bending her head a little on one side. 
 
 " I have already seen M'sieu Voldemar,"— she 
 began. (The silvery tone of her voice coursed 
 through me like a sweet chill.) — " Will you per- 
 mit me to call you so? " 
 
 " Pray do, madam," — I lisped. 
 
 "Where was that? "—asked the Princess. 
 
 The young Princess did not answer her mother. 
 
 " Are you busy now? "—she said, without tak- 
 ing her eyes oiF me. 
 
 " Not in the least, madam." 
 
 16
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 " Then will you help me to wind some wool? 
 Come hither, to me." 
 
 She nodded her head at me and left the draw- 
 ing-room. I followed her. 
 
 In the room which we entered the furniture was 
 a little better and was arranged with great taste. 
 —But at that moment I was almost unable to no- 
 tice anything ; I moved as though in a dream and 
 felt a sort of intense sensation of well-being verg- 
 ing on stupidity throughout my frame. 
 
 The young Princess sat down, produced a knot 
 of red wool, and pointing me to a chair opposite 
 her, she carefully unbound the skein and placed 
 it on my hands. She did all this in silence, with 
 a sort of diverting deliberation, and with the same 
 brilliant and crafty smile on her slightly parted 
 lips. She began to wind the wool upon a card 
 doubled together, and suddenly illumined me with 
 such a clear, swift glance, that I involuntarily 
 dropped my eyes. When her eyes, which were 
 generally half closed, opened to their full extent 
 her face underwent a complete change ; it was as 
 though light had inundated it. 
 
 " What did you think of me yesterday, M'sieu 
 Voldemar? " — she asked, after a brief pause. — 
 " You certainly must have condemned me? " 
 
 " I . . . . Princess .... I thought nothing 
 .... how can I "I replied, in confu- 
 sion. 
 
 " Listen,"— she returned.—" You do not know 
 
 ir
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 me yet; I want people always to speak the truth 
 to me. You are sixteen, I heard, and I am 
 twenty-one ; you see that I am a great deal older 
 than you, and therefore you must always speak 
 the truth to me . . . and obey me," — she added. 
 — " Look at me; why don't you look at me? " 
 
 I became still more confused; but I raised my 
 eyes to hers, nevertheless. She smiled, only not 
 in her former manner, but with a different, an 
 approving smile. — " Look at me," — she said, ca- 
 ressingly lowering her voice: — " I don't like that. 
 . . . Your face pleases me ; I foresee that we shall 
 be friends. And do you like me? " — she added 
 
 slyly. 
 
 " Princess . ..." I was beginning. . . . 
 
 " In the first place, call me Zinaida Alexan- 
 drovna; and in the second place, — what sort of a 
 habit is it for children " — (she corrected herself) 
 — " for young men — not to say straight out what 
 they feel? You do like me, don't you? " 
 
 Although it was very pleasant to me to have 
 her talk so frankly to me, still I was somewhat 
 nettled. I wanted to show her that she was not 
 dealing with a small boy, and, assuming as easy 
 and serious a mien as I could, I said: — "Of 
 course I like you very much, Zinaida Alexan- 
 drovna; I have no desire to conceal the fact." 
 
 She shook her head, pausing at intervals. — 
 *' Have you a governor? " — she suddenly in- 
 quired. 
 
 18
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 " No, I have not had a governor this long time 
 past." 
 
 I lied: a month had not yet elapsed since I 
 had parted with my Frenchman. 
 
 *' Oh, yes, I see: you are quite grown up." 
 
 She slapped me lightly on the fingers.—" Hold 
 your hands straight! "—And she busied herself 
 diligently with winding her ball. 
 
 I took advantage of the fact that she did not 
 raise her eyes, and set to scrutinising her, first by 
 stealth, then more and more boldly. Her face 
 seemed to me even more charming than on the day 
 before : everything about it was so delicate, intel- 
 ligent and lovely. She was sitting with her back 
 to the window, which was hung with a white 
 shade; a ray of sunlight making its way through 
 that shade inundated with a flood of light her 
 fluffy golden hair, her innocent neck, sloping 
 shoulders, and calm, tender bosom. — I gazed at 
 her — and how near and dear she became to me! 
 It seemed to me both that I had known her for 
 a long time and that I had known nothing and 
 had not lived before she came. . . . She wore a 
 rather dark, already shabby gown, with an apron ; 
 I believe I would willingly have caressed every 
 fold of that gown and of that apron. The tips of 
 her shoes peeped out from under her gown; I 
 would have bowed down to those little boots. . . 
 " And here I sit, in front of her," — I thought. — 
 " I have become acquainted with her .... what 
 
 19
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 happiness, my God ! " I came near bouncing out 
 of my chair with rapture, but I merely dangled 
 my feet to and fro a little, like a child who is en- 
 joying dainties. 
 
 I felt as much at my ease as a fish does in water, 
 and I would have liked never to leave that room 
 again as long as I lived. 
 
 Her eyelids slowly rose, and again her brilliant 
 eyes beamed caressingly before me, and again she 
 laughed. 
 
 "How you stare at me!" — she said slowly, 
 shaking her finger at me. 
 
 I flushed scarlet " She understands all, 
 
 she sees all," — flashed through my head. " And 
 how could she fail to see and understand all? " 
 
 Suddenly there was a clattering in the next 
 room, and a sword clanked. 
 
 " Zina! " — screamed the old Princess from the 
 drawing-room. — " ByelovzorofF has brought thee 
 a kitten." 
 
 "A kitten!" — cried Zinaida, and springing 
 headlong from her chair, she flung the ball on my 
 knees and ran out. 
 
 I also rose, and, laying the skein of wool on the 
 window-sill, went into the drawing-room, and 
 stopped short in amazement. In the centre of the 
 room lay a kitten with outstretched paws ; Zinaida 
 was kneeling in front of it, and carefully raising 
 its snout. By the side of the young Princess, tak- 
 ing up nearly the entire wall-space between the 
 
 20
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 windows, was visible a fair-complexioned, curly- 
 haired young man, a hussar, with a rosy face and 
 protruding eyes. 
 
 "How ridiculous!" — Zinaida kept repeating: 
 — " and its eyes are not grey, but green, and what 
 big ears it has! Thank you, Viktor Egoritch! 
 you are very kind." 
 
 The hussar, in whom I recognised one of the 
 young men whom I had seen on the preceding 
 evening, smiled and bowed, clicking his spurs and 
 clanking the links of his sword as he did so. 
 
 " You were pleased to say yesterday that you 
 wished to possess a striped kitten with large ears 
 .... so I have got it, madam. Your word is 
 my law." — And again he bowed. 
 
 The kitten mewed faintly, and began to sniff at 
 the floor. 
 
 "He is hungry! "—cried Zinaida.— " Voni- 
 faty! Sonya! bring some milk." 
 
 The chambermaid, in an old yellow gown and 
 with a faded kerchief on her head, entered with a 
 saucer of milk in her hand, and placed it in front 
 of the kitten. The kitten quivered, blinked, and 
 began to lap. 
 
 " What a rosy tongue it has,"— remarked 
 Zinaida, bending her head down almost to the 
 floor, and looking sideways at it, under its very 
 nose. 
 
 The kitten drank its fill, and began to purr, af- 
 fectedly contracting and relaxing its paws. Zi- 
 
 21
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 naida rose to her feet, and turning to the maid, 
 said indifferently: — " Take it away." 
 
 " Your hand— in return for the kitten," — said 
 the hussar, displaying his teeth, and bending over 
 the whole of his huge body, tightly confined in a 
 new uniform. 
 
 " Both hands," — replied Zinaida, offering him 
 her hands. While he was kissing them, she gazed 
 at me over his shoulder. 
 
 I stood motionless on one spot, and did not 
 know whether to laugh or to say something, or to 
 hold my peace. Suddenly, through the open door 
 of the anteroom, the figure of our footman, 
 Feodor, caught my eye. He was making signs 
 to me. I mechanically went out to him. 
 
 " What dost thou want? "—I asked. 
 
 " Your mamma has sent for you," — he said in 
 a whisper. — " She is angry because you do not re- 
 turn with an answer." 
 
 " Why, have I been here long? " 
 
 " More than an hour." 
 
 "More than an hour!" — I repeated involun- 
 tarily, and returning to the drawing-room, I be- 
 gan to bow and scrape my foot. 
 
 " Where are you going? " — the young Princess 
 asked me, with a glance at the hussar. 
 
 " I must go home, madam. So I am to say," — 
 I added, addressing the old woman, — " that you 
 will call upon us at two o'clock." 
 
 " Say that, my dear fellow." 
 
 22
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 The old Princess hurriedly drew out her snuff- 
 box, and took a pinch so noisily that I fairly 
 jumped.—" Say that,"— she repeated, tearfully 
 blinking and grunting. 
 
 I bowed once more, turned and left the room 
 with the same sensation of awkwardness in my 
 back which a very young man experiences when 
 he knows that people are staring after him. 
 
 " Look here, M'sieu Voldemar, you must drop 
 in to see us,"— called Zinaida, and again burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 " What makes her laugh all the time? " I 
 thought, as I wended my way home accompanied 
 by Feodor, who said nothing to me, but moved 
 along disapprovingly behind me. My mother re- 
 proved me, and inquired, with surprise, " What 
 could I have been doing so long at the Prin- 
 cess's? " I made her no answer, and went off to 
 my own room. I had suddenly grown very mel- 
 ancholy. ... I tried not to weep. ... I was 
 jealous of the hussar. 
 
 Y 
 
 The Princess, according to her promise, called 
 on my mother, and did not please her. I was not 
 present at their meeting, but at table my mother 
 narrated to my father that that Princess Zasyekin 
 seemed to her a femme tres vulgaire; that she had 
 bored her immensely with her requests that she 
 
 23
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 would intervene on her behalf with Prince Ser- 
 gyei; that she was always having such law-suits 
 and affairs, — de vilaines affaires d' argent,— and 
 that she must be a great rogue. But my mother 
 added that she had invited her with her daughter 
 to dine on the following day (on hearing the 
 words " with her daughter," I dropped my nose 
 into my plate),— because, notwithstanding, she 
 was a neighbour, and with a name. Thereupon 
 my father informed my mother that he now re- 
 called who the lady was : that in his youth he had 
 known the late Prince Zasyekin, a capitally-edu- 
 cated but flighty and captious man; that in so- 
 ciety he was called '' le Parisien/' because of his 
 long residence in Paris; that he had been very 
 wealthy, but had gambled away all his property 
 —and, no one knew why, though probably it had 
 been for the sake of the money, — " although he 
 might have made a better choice,"— added my 
 father, with a cold smile,— he had married the 
 daughter of some clerk in a chancellery, and after 
 his marriage had gone into speculation, and 
 ruined himself definitively. 
 
 *' 'T is a wonder she did not try to borrow 
 money,"— remarked my mother. 
 
 " She is very likely to do it,"— said my father, 
 calmly.—" Does she speak French? " 
 
 " Very badly." 
 
 " M-m-m. However, that makes no difference. 
 
 24
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 I think thou saidst that thou hadst invited her 
 daughter ; some one assured me that she is a very- 
 charming and well-educated girl." 
 
 "Ah! Then she does not take after her 
 mother." 
 
 " Nor after her father,"— returned my father. 
 — " He was also well educated, but stupid." 
 
 My mother sighed, and became thoughtful. 
 My father relapsed into silence. I felt very awk- 
 ward during the course of that conversation. 
 
 After dinner I betook myself to the garden, 
 but without my gun. I had pledged my word to 
 myself that I would not go near the " Zasyekin 
 garden " ; but an irresistible force drew me thither, 
 and not in vain. I had no sooner approached the 
 fence than I caught sight of Zinaida. This time 
 she was alone. She was holding a small book in 
 her hands and strolling slowly along the path. 
 She did not notice me. I came near letting her 
 slip past; but suddenly caught myself up and 
 coughed. 
 
 She turned round but did not pause, put aside 
 with one hand the broad blue ribbon of her round 
 straw hat, looked at me, smiled quietly, and again 
 riveted her eyes on her book. 
 
 I pulled off my cap, and after fidgeting about 
 a while on one spot, I went away with a heavy 
 heart. "Que suis-je pour elle?"—l thought 
 (God knows why) in French. 
 
 25
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Familiar footsteps resounded behind me; I 
 glanced round and beheld my father advancing 
 toward me with swift, rapid strides. 
 
 " Is that the young Princess? "—he asked me. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Dost thou know her? " 
 
 " I saw her this morning at the Princess her 
 mother's." 
 
 My father halted and, wheeling abruptly 
 round on his heels, retraced his steps. As he came 
 on a level with Zinaida he bowed courteously to 
 her. She bowed to him in return, not without 
 some surprise on her face, and lowered her book. 
 I saw that she followed him with her eyes. My 
 father always dressed very elegantly, originally 
 and simply; but his figure had never seemed to 
 me more graceful, never had his grey hat sat more 
 handsomely on his curls, which were barely begin- 
 ning to grow thin. 
 
 I was on the point of directing my course to- 
 ward Zinaida, but she did not even look at me, 
 but raised her book once more and walked awav. 
 
 VI 
 
 I SPENT the whole of that evening and the follow- 
 ing day in a sort of gloomy stupor. I remember 
 that I made an effort to work, and took up Kai- 
 danoff ; but in vain did the large-printed lines 
 
 26
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 and pages of the famous text-book flit before my 
 eyes. Ten times in succession I read the words: 
 " Julius Caesar was distinguished for military 
 daring," without understanding a word, and I 
 flung aside my book. Before dinner I pomaded 
 my hair again, and again donned my frock-coat 
 and neckerchief. 
 
 " What 's that for? "—inquired my mother.— 
 " Thou art not a student yet, and God knows whe- 
 ther thou wilt pass thy examination. And thy 
 round- jacket was made not very long ago. Thou 
 must not discard it ! " 
 
 " There are to be guests," — I whispered, almost 
 in despair. 
 
 "What nonsense! What sort of guests are 
 they? " 
 
 I was compelled to submit. I exchanged my 
 coat for my round- jacket, but did not remove my 
 neckerchief. The Princess and her daughter 
 made their appearance half an hour before din- 
 ner; the old woman had thrown a yellow shawl 
 over her green gown, with which I was familiar, 
 and had donned an old-fashioned mob-cap with 
 ribbons of a fiery hue. She immediately began to 
 talk about her notes of hand, to sigh and to be- 
 wail her poverty, and to " importune," but did 
 not stand in the least upon ceremony; and she 
 took snufl* noisily and fidgeted and wriggled in 
 hex chair as before. It never seemed to enter her 
 head that she was a Princess. On the other hand, 
 
 27
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Zinaida bore herself very stiffly, almost haughtily, 
 like a real young Princess. Cold impassivity and 
 dignity had made their appearance on her coun- 
 tenance, and I did not recognise her, — did not 
 recognise her looks or her smile, although in this 
 new aspect she seemed to me very beautiful. She 
 wore a thin barege gown with pale-blue figures; 
 her hair fell in long curls along her cheeks, in the 
 English fashion : this coiffure suited the cold ex- 
 pression of her face. 
 
 My father sat beside her during dinner, and 
 with the exquisite and imperturbable courtesy 
 which was characteristic of him, showed attention 
 to his neighbour. He glanced at her from time to 
 time, and she glanced at him now and then, but 
 in such a strange, almost hostile, manner. 
 Their conversation proceeded in French;— I 
 remember that I was surprised at the purity of 
 Zinaida's accent. The old Princess, as before, 
 did not restrain herself in the slightest degree dur- 
 ing dinner, but ate a great deal and praised the 
 food. My mother evidently found her wearisome, 
 and answered her with a sort of sad indifference; 
 my father contracted his brows in a slight frown 
 from time to time. My mother did not like Zi- 
 naida either. 
 
 " She 's a haughty young sprig,"— she said the 
 next day.—" And when one comes to think of it, 
 what is there for her to be proud of '^.—avec sa 
 mine de grisette! " 
 
 28
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 " Evidently, thou hast not seen any grisettes," 
 —my father remarked to her. 
 
 " Of course I have n't, God be thanked! 
 
 Only, how art thou capable of judging of them? " 
 
 Zinaida paid absolutely no attention whatever 
 to me. Soon after dinner the old Princess began 
 to take her leave. 
 
 " I shall rely upon your protection, Marya 
 Nikolaevna and Piotr Vasilitch," — she said, in 
 a sing-song tone, to my father and mother.— 
 "What is to be done! I have seen prosperous 
 days, but they are gone. Here am I a Radiance," 
 — she added, with an unpleasant laugh, — " but 
 what 's the good of an honour when you 've no- 
 thing to eat? " — My father bowed respectfully to 
 her and escorted her to the door of the anteroom. 
 I was standing there in my round- jacket, and 
 staring at the floor, as though condemned to 
 death. Zinaida's behaviour toward me had de- 
 finitively annihilated me. What, then, was my 
 amazement when, as she passed me, she whispered 
 to me hastily, and with her former affectionate 
 expression in her eyes:— "Come to us at eight 
 o'clock, do you hear? without fail. ..." I merely 
 threw my hands apart in amazement; — but she 
 was already retreating, having thrown a white 
 scarf over her head. 
 
 29
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 VII 
 
 Precisely at eight o'clock I entered the tiny 
 wing inhabited by the Princess, clad in my coat, 
 and with my hair brushed up into a crest on top 
 of my head. The old servant glared surlily at 
 me, and rose reluctantly from his bench. Merry 
 voices resounded in the drawing-room. I opened 
 the door and retreated a pace in astonishment. In 
 the middle of the room, on a chair, stood the 
 young Princess, holding a man's hat in front of 
 her; around the chair thronged five men. They 
 were trying to dip their hands into the hat, but she 
 kept raising it on high and shaking it violently. 
 On catching sight of me she exclaimed: — 
 
 " Stay, stay! Here 's a new guest; he must be 
 given a ticket," — and springing lightly from the 
 chair, she seized me by the lapel of my coat. — 
 " Come along,"— said she;—" why do you stand 
 there? Messieurs, allow me to make you ac- 
 quainted: this is Monsieur Voldemar, the son of 
 our neighbour. And this,"— she added, turning 
 to me, and pointing to the visitors in turn,—" is 
 Count Malevsky, Doctor Liishin, the poet Mai- 
 danofF, retired Captain Nirmatzky, and Byelov- 
 zorofF the hussar, whom you have already seen. 
 I beg that you will love and favour each other." 
 
 I was so confused that I did not even bow to 
 any one ; in Doctor Liishin I recognised that same 
 
 30
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 swarthy gentleman who had so ruthlessly put me 
 to shame in the garden ; the others were strangers 
 to me. 
 
 " Count! "—pursued Zinaida,— " write a ticket 
 for M'sieu Voldemar." 
 
 " That is unjust," — returned the Count, with a 
 slight accent,— a very handsome and foppishly- 
 attired man, with a dark complexion, expressive 
 brown eyes, a thin, white little nose, and a slender 
 moustache over his tiny mouth. — " He has not 
 been playing at forfeits with us." 
 
 " 'T is unjust," — repeated ByelovzorofF and 
 the gentleman who had been alluded to as the re- 
 tired Captain, — a man of forty, horribly pock- 
 marked, curly-haired as a negro, round-shoul- 
 dered, bow-legged, and dressed in a military coat 
 without epaulets, worn open on the breast. 
 
 " Write a ticket, I tell you,"— repeated the 
 Princess. — "What sort of a rebellion is this? 
 M'sieu Voldemar is with us for the first time, and 
 to-day no law applies to him. No grumbling— 
 write; I will have it so." 
 
 The Count shrugged his shoulders, but submis- 
 sively bowing his head, he took a pen in his white, 
 ring-decked hand, tore off a scrap of paper and 
 began to write on it. 
 
 " Permit me at least to explain to M'sieu 
 Voldemar what it is all about,"— began Liishin, 
 in a bantering tone;— " otherwise he will be ut- 
 terly at a loss. You see, young man, we are play- 
 
 31
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ing at forfeits ; the Princess must pay a fine, and 
 the one who draws out the lucky ticket must kiss 
 her hand. Do you understand what I have told 
 youf 
 
 I merely glanced at him and continued to stand 
 as though in a fog, while the Princess again 
 sprang upon the chair and again began to shake 
 the hat. All reached up to her — I among the rest. 
 
 " MaidanofF,"— said the Princess to the tall 
 young man with a gaunt face, tiny mole-like eyes 
 and extremely long, black hair, — " j^^ou, as a poet, 
 ought to be magnanimous and surrender your 
 ticket to M'sieu Voldemar, so that he may have 
 two chances instead of one." 
 
 But MaidanoiF shook his head in refusal and 
 tossed his hair. I put in my hand into the hat 
 after all the rest, drew out and unfolded a ticket. 
 . . . O Lord! what were my sensations when I 
 beheld on it, "Kiss!" 
 
 " Kiss! " — I cried involuntarily. 
 
 " Bravo! He has won,"— chimed in the Prin- 
 cess. — " How delighted I ami "—She descended 
 from the chair, and gazed into my eyes so clearly 
 and sweetly that my heart fairly laughed with 
 joy. — "And are you glad?"— she asked me. 
 
 "I?" . . . I stammered. 
 
 " Sell me your ticket,"— suddenly blurted out 
 Byelovzoroff, right in my ear. — " I '11 give you 
 one hundred rubles for it." 
 
 I replied to the hussar by such a wrathful look 
 
 32
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 that Zinaida clapped her hands, and Lushin cried : 
 — " That 's a gallant fellow! " 
 
 " But," — he went on, — " in my capacity of 
 master of ceremonies, I am bound to see that all 
 the regulations are carried out. M'sieu Volde- 
 mar, get down on one knee. That is our rule." 
 
 Zinaida stood before me with her head bent a 
 little to one side, as though the better to scrutinise 
 me, and offered me her hand with dignity. 
 Things grew dim before my eyes; I tried to get 
 down on one knee, plumped down on both knees, 
 and applied my lips to Zinaida's fingers in so awk- 
 ward a manner that I scratched the tip of my 
 nose slightly on her nails. 
 
 " Good! " — shouted Lushin, and helped me to 
 rise. 
 
 The game of forfeits continued. Zinaida 
 placed me beside her. What penalties they did 
 invent! Among other things, she had to imper- 
 sonate a " statue " — and she selected as a pedestal 
 the monstrously homely Nirmatzky, ordering 
 him to lie flat on the floor, and to tuck his face into 
 his breast. The laughter did not cease for a sin- 
 gle moment. All this noise and uproar, this un- 
 ceremonious, almost tumultuous merriment, these 
 unprecedented relations with strangers, fairly 
 flew to my head; for I was a boy who had been 
 reared soberly, and in solitude, and had grown up 
 in a stately home of gentry. I became simply in- 
 toxicated, as though with wine. I began to shout 
 
 83
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 with laughter and chatter more loudly than the 
 rest, so that even the old Princess, who was sitting 
 in the adjoining room with some sort of petti- 
 fogger from the Iversky Gate ^ who had been 
 summoned for a conference, came out to take a 
 look at me. But I felt so happy that, as the say- 
 ing is, I didn't care a farthing for anybody's 
 ridicule, or anybody's oblique glances. 
 
 Zinaida continued to display a preference for 
 me and never let me leave her side. In one forfeit 
 I was made to sit by her, covered up with one 
 and the same silk kerchief: I was bound to tell 
 her my secret. I remember how our two heads 
 found themselves suddenly in choking, semi- 
 transparent, fragrant gloom; how near and 
 softly her eyes sparkled in that gloom, and how 
 hotly her parted lips breathed ; and her teeth were 
 visible, and the tips of her hair tickled and burned 
 me. I maintained silence. She smiled mysteri- 
 ously and slyly, and at last whispered to me: 
 " Well, what is it? " But I merely flushed and 
 laughed, and turned away, and could hardly draw 
 my breath. We got tired of forfeits, and began 
 to play " string." Good heavens! what rapture 
 I felt when, forgetting myself with gaping, I re- 
 ceived from her a strong, sharp rap on my fingers ; 
 and how afterward I tried to pretend that I was 
 
 1 The famous gate from the "White town " into the " China town," 
 in Moscow, where there is a renowned holy picture of the Iberian 
 Virgin, in a chapel. Evidently the lawyers' quarter was in this vi 
 cinity. —Translator. 
 
 34
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 yawning with inattention, but she mocked at me 
 and did not touch my hands, which were await- 
 ing the blow ! 
 
 But what a lot of other pranks we played that 
 same evening! We played on the piano, and 
 sang, and danced, and represented a gipsy camp. 
 We dressed Nirmatzky up like a bear, and 
 fed him with water and salt. Count Malev- 
 sky showed us several card tricks, and ended by 
 stacking the cards and dealing himself all the 
 trumps at whist; upon which Liishin "had the 
 honour of congratulating him." MaidanofF de- 
 claimed to us fragments from his poem, " The 
 Murderer " (this occurred in the very thick of 
 romanticism), which he intended to publish in a 
 black binding, with the title in letters of the colour 
 of blood. We stole his hat from the knees of the 
 pettifogger from the Iversky Gate, and made 
 him dance the kazak dance by way of redeeming 
 it. We dressed old Vonifaty up in a mob-cap, and 
 the young Princess put on a man's hat. ... It is 
 impossible to recount all we did. Byelovzoroff 
 alone remained most of the time in a corner, an- 
 gry and frowning. . . . Sometimes his eyes be- 
 came suffused with blood, he grew scailet all over 
 and seemed to be on the very point of swooping 
 down upon all of us and scattering us on all sides, 
 like chips ; but the Princess glanced at him, men- 
 aced him with her finger, and again he retired 
 into his corner. 
 
 35
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 We were completely exhausted at last. The 
 old Princess was equal to anything, as she put it, 
 —no shouts disconcerted her,— but she felt tired 
 and wished to rest. At midnight supper was 
 served, consisting of a bit of old, dry cheese and a 
 few cold patties filled with minced ham, which 
 seemed to us more savoury than any pasty ; there 
 was only one bottle of wine, and that was rather 
 queer: — dark, with a swollen neck, and the wine 
 in it left an after-taste of pinkish dye ; however, no 
 one drank it. Weary and happy to exhaustion, I 
 emerged from the wing ; a thunder-storm seemed 
 to be brewing; the black storm-clouds grew 
 larger and crept across the sky, visibly altering 
 their smoky outlines. A light breeze was uneasily 
 quivering in the dark trees, and somewhere be- 
 yond the horizon the thunder was growling an- 
 grily and dully, as though to itself. 
 
 I made my way through the back door to my 
 room. My nurse-valet was sleeping on the floor 
 and I was obliged to step over him ; he woke up, 
 saw me, and reported that my mother was an- 
 gry with me, and had wanted to send after me 
 again, but that my father had restrained her. I 
 never went to bed without having bidden my mo- 
 ther good night and begged her blessing. There 
 was no help for it ! I told my valet that I would 
 undress myself and go to bed unaided,— and ex- 
 tinguished the candle. But I did not undress and 
 I did not go to bed. 
 
 36
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 I seated myself on a chair and sat there for a 
 long time, as though enchanted. That which I 
 
 felt was so new and so sweet I sat there, 
 
 hardly looking around me and without moving, 
 breathing slowly, and only laughing silently now, 
 as I recalled, now inwardly turning cold at the 
 thought that I was in love, that here it was, that 
 love. Zinaida's face floated softly before me in 
 the darkness — floated, but did not float away; her 
 lips still smiled as mysteriously as ever, her eyes 
 gazed somewhat askance at me, interrogatively, 
 thoughtfully and tenderly .... as at the mo- 
 ment when I had parted from her. At last I rose 
 on tiptoe, stepped to my bed and cautiously, with- 
 out undressing, laid my head on the pillow, as 
 though endeavouring by the sharp movement to 
 frighten oif that wherewith I was filled to over- 
 flowing. . . . 
 
 I lay down, but did not even close an eye. I 
 speedily perceived that certain faint reflections 
 
 kept constantly falling into my room I 
 
 raised myself and looked out of the window. Its 
 frame was distinctly defined from the mysteri- 
 ously and confusedly whitened panes. " 'T is the 
 thunder-storm," — I thought, — and so, in fact, 
 there was a thunder-storm ; but it had passed very 
 far away, so that even the claps of thunder were 
 not audible; only in the sky long, indistinct, 
 branching flashes of lightning, as it were, were 
 uninterruptedly flashing up. They were not 
 
 37
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 flashing up so much as they were quivering and 
 twitching, hke the wing of a dying bird. I rose, 
 went to the window, and stood there until morn- 
 ing. . . . The lightning-flashes never ceased for 
 a moment; it was what is called a pitch-black 
 night. I gazed at the dumb, sandy plain, at the 
 dark mass of the Neskiitchny Park, at the yellow- 
 ish fa9ades of the distant buildings, which also 
 seemed to be trembling at every faint flash. . . . 
 I gazed, and could not tear myself away; those 
 dumb lightning-flashes, those restrained gleams, 
 seemed to be responding to the dumb and secret 
 outbursts which were flaring up within me 
 also. Morning began to break ; the dawn started 
 forth in scarlet patches. With the approach of 
 the sun the lightning-flashes grew paler and 
 paler ; they quivered more and more infrequently, 
 and vanished at last, drowned in the sober- 
 ing and unequivocal light of the breaking 
 day. 
 
 And my lightning-flashes vanished within me 
 also. I felt great fatigue and tranquillity . . . but 
 Zinaida's image continued to hover triumphantly 
 over my soul. Only it, that image, seemed calm ; 
 like a flying swan from the marshy sedges, it 
 separated itself from the other ignoble figures 
 which surrounded it, and as I fell asleep, I bowed 
 down before it for the last time in farewell and 
 confiding adoration. . . . 
 
 Oh, gentle emotions, soft sounds, kindness and 
 
 38
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 calming of the deeply-moved soul, melting joy of 
 the first feelings of love, — where are ye, where 
 are ye? 
 
 VIII 
 
 On the following morning, when I went down- 
 stairs to tea, my mother scolded me, — although 
 less than I had anticipated, — and made me nar- 
 rate how I had spent the preceding evening. I 
 answered her in few words, omitting many par- 
 ticulars and endeavouring to impart to my narra- 
 tive the most innocent of aspects. 
 
 " Nevertheless, they are not people comme il 
 faut" — remarked my mother; — "and I do not 
 wish thee to run after them, instead of preparing 
 thyself for the examination, and occupying thy- 
 self." 
 
 As I knew that my mother's anxiety was con- 
 fined to these few words, I did not consider it 
 necessary to make her any reply ; but after tea my 
 father linked his arm in mine, and betaking him- 
 self to the garden with me, made me tell him 
 everything I had done and seen at the Zasyekins'. 
 
 My father possessed a strange influence over 
 me, and our relations were strange. He paid 
 hardly any attention to my education, but he 
 never wounded me; he respected my liberty— he 
 was even, if I may so express it, courteous to me 
 .... only, he did not allow me to get close to him. 
 
 39
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 I loved him, I admired him; he seemed to me a 
 model man ; and great heavens ! how passionately 
 attached to him I should have been, had I not con- 
 stantly felt his hand warding me off! On the 
 other hand, when he wished, he understood how 
 to evoke in me, instantaneously, with one word, 
 one movement, unbounded confidence in him. My 
 soul opened, I chatted with him as with an intelli- 
 gent friend, as with an indulgent preceptor .... 
 then, with equal suddenness, he abandoned me, 
 and again his hand repulsed me, caressingly and 
 softly, but repulsed nevertheless. 
 
 Sometimes a fit of mirth came over him, and 
 then he was ready to frolic and play with me 
 like a boy (he was fond of every sort of ener- 
 getic bodily exercise) ; once — only once — did he 
 caress me with so much tenderness that I came 
 near bursting into tears. . . . But his mirth and 
 tenderness also vanished without leaving a trace, 
 and what had taken place between us gave me no 
 hopes for the future; it was just as though I had 
 seen it all in a dream. I used to stand and scru- 
 tinise his clever, handsome, brilliant face .... 
 and my heart would begin to quiver, and my 
 whole being would yearn toward him, .... and he 
 would seem to feel what was going on within me, 
 and would pat me on the cheek in passing — and 
 either go away, or begin to occupy himself with 
 something, or suddenly freeze all over, — as he 
 alone knew how to freeze, — and I would immedi- 
 
 40
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ately shrivel up and grow frigid also. His rare 
 fits of affection for me were never called forth 
 by my speechless but intelligible entreaties; they 
 always came upon him without warning. When 
 meditating, in after years, upon my father's char- 
 acter, I came to the conclusion that he did not 
 care for me or for family life ; he loved something 
 different, and enjoyed that other thing to the 
 full. " Seize what thou canst thyself, and do not 
 give thyself into any one's power ; the whole art of 
 life consists in belonging to one's self," — he said 
 to me once. On another occasion I, in my ca- 
 pacity of a young democrat, launched out in his 
 presence into arguments about liberty (he was 
 what I called " kind " that day; at such times one 
 could say whatever one liked to him). — "Lib- 
 erty," — he repeated,—" but dost thou know what 
 can give a man Hberty? " 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " Will, his own will, and the power which it 
 gives is better than liberty. Learn to will, and 
 thou wilt be free, and wilt command." 
 
 My father wished, first of all and most of all, 
 to enjoy life— and he did enjoy life Per- 
 haps he had a presentiment that he was not fated 
 long to take advantage of the " art " of living: he 
 died at the age of forty-two. 
 
 I described to my father in detail my visit to 
 the Zasyekins. He listened to me half -atten- 
 tively, half -abstractedly, as he sat on the bench 
 
 41
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 and drew figures on the sand with the tip of his 
 riding-whip. Now and then he laughed, glanced 
 at me in a brilliant, amused sort of way, and 
 spurred me on by brief questions and exclama- 
 tions. At first I could not bring myself even to 
 utter Zinaida's name, but I could not hold out, 
 and began to laud her. My father still continued 
 to laugh. Then he became thoughtful, dropped 
 his eyes and rose to his feet. 
 
 I recalled the fact that, as he came out of the 
 house, he had given orders that his horse should 
 be saddled. He was a capital rider, and knew 
 much better how to tame the wildest horses than 
 did Mr. Rarey. 
 
 " Shall I ride with thee, papa? " — I asked him. 
 
 " No," — he replied, and his face assumed 
 its habitual indifferently-caressing expression. — 
 " Go alone, if thou wishest ; but tell the coachman 
 that I shall not go." 
 
 He turned his back on me and walked swiftly 
 away. I followed him with my eyes, until he dis- 
 appeared beyond the gate. I saw his hat moving 
 along the fence; he went into the Zasyekins' 
 house. 
 
 He remained with them no more than an hour, 
 but immediately thereafter went off to town and 
 did not return home until evening. 
 
 After dinner I went to the Zasyekins' myself. 
 I found no one in the drawing-room but the old 
 Princess. When she saw me, she scratched her 
 
 42
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 head under her cap with the end of her knitting- 
 needle, and suddenly asked me: would I copy a 
 petition for her? 
 
 " With pleasure,"— I replied, and sat down on 
 the edge of a chair. 
 
 " Only look out, and see that you make the let- 
 ters as large as possible,"— said the Princess, 
 handing me a sheet of paper scrawled over in a 
 slovenly manner: — " and couldn't you do it to- 
 day, my dear fellow ? " 
 
 " I will copy it this very day, madam." 
 
 The door of the adjoining room opened a mere 
 crack and Zinaida's face showed itself in the aper- 
 ture,— pale, thoughtful, with hair thrown care- 
 lessly back. She stared at me with her large, cold 
 eyes, and softly shut the door. 
 
 " Zina,— hey there, Zina!"— said the old wo- 
 man. Zinaida did not answer. I carried away 
 the old woman's petition, and sat over it the whole 
 evening. 
 
 IX 
 
 My " passion " began with that day. I remember 
 that I then felt something of that which a man 
 must feel when he enters the service: I had al- 
 ready ceased to be a young lad ; I was in love. I 
 have said that my passion dated from that day ; I 
 might have added that my sufferings also dated 
 from that day. I languished when absent from 
 Zinaida; my mind would not work, everything 
 
 4)3
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 fell from my hands ; I thought intently of her fop 
 days together. ... I languished .... but in 
 her presence I was no more at ease. I was jeal- 
 ous, I recognised my insignificance, I stupidly 
 sulked and stupidly fawned ; and, nevertheless, an 
 irresistible force drew me to her, and every time I 
 stepped across the threshold of her room, it was 
 with an involuntary thrill of happiness. Zinafda 
 immediately divined that I had fallen in love with 
 her, and I never thought of concealing the fact; 
 she mocked at my passion, played tricks on me, 
 petted and tormented me. It is sweet to be the 
 sole source, the autocratic and irresponsible cause 
 of the greatest joys and the profoundest woe to 
 another person, and I was like soft wax in Zi- 
 naida's hands. However, I was not the only one 
 who was in love with her; all the men who were 
 in the habit of visiting her house were crazy over 
 her, and she kept them all in a leash at her feet. 
 It amused her to arouse in them now hopes, now 
 fears, to twist them about at her caprice (she 
 called it, " knocking people against one an- 
 other"), — and they never thought of resisting, 
 and willingly submitted to her. In all her viva- 
 cious and beautiful being there was a certain pe- 
 culiarly bewitching mixture of guilefulness and 
 heedlessness, of artificiality and simplicity, of 
 tranquillity and playfulness; over everything she 
 did or said, over her every movement, hovered a 
 light, delicate charm, and an original, sparkling
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 force made itself felt in everything. And her 
 face was incessantly changing and sparkling 
 also ; it expressed almost simultaneously derision, 
 pensiveness, and passion. The most varied emo- 
 tions, light, fleeting as the shadows of the clouds 
 on a sunny, windy day, kept flitting over her eyes 
 and lips. 
 
 Every one of her adorers was necessary to her. 
 Byelovzorofl", whom she sometimes called " my 
 wild beast," and sometimes simply " my own," 
 would gladly have flung himself into the fire for 
 her; without trusting to his mental capacities and 
 other merits, he kept proposing that he should 
 marry her, and hinting that the others were 
 merely talking idly. Maidanoff responded to the 
 poetical chords of her soul : a rather cold man, as 
 nearly all writers are, he assured her with intense 
 force— and perhaps himself also— that he adored 
 her. He sang her praises in interminable verses 
 and read them to her with an unnatural and a gen- 
 uine sort of enthusiasm. And she was interested in 
 him and jeered lightly at him; she did not believe 
 in him greatly, and after listening to his efl'u- 
 sions she made him read Pushkin, in order, as she 
 said, to purify the air. Lushin, the sneering doc- 
 tor, who was cynical in speech, knew her best of 
 all and loved her best of all, although he abused 
 her to her face and behind her back. She re- 
 spected him, but would not let him go, and some- 
 times, with a peculiar, malicious pleasure, made 
 
 45
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 him feel that he was in her hands. " I am a co- 
 quette, I am heartless, I have the nature of an 
 actress," she said to him one day in my presence; 
 " and 't is well! So give me your hand and I will 
 stick a pin into it, and you will feel ashamed be- 
 fore this young man, and it will hurt you ; but nev- 
 ertheless, INIr. Upright Man, you will be so good 
 as to laugh." Lushin flushed crimson, turned 
 away and bit his lips, but ended by putting out 
 his hand. She pricked it, and he actually did 
 break out laughing .... and she laughed also, 
 thrusting the pin in pretty deeply and gazing into 
 his eyes while he vainly endeavoured to glance 
 aside. . . . 
 
 I understood least of all the relations existing 
 between Zinaida and Count Malevsky. That he 
 was handsome, adroit, and clever even I felt, but 
 the presence in him of some false, dubious ele- 
 ment, was palpable even to me, a lad of sixteen, 
 and I was amazed that Zinaida did not notice it. 
 But perhaps she did detect that false element and 
 it did not repel her. An irregular education, 
 strange acquaintances, the constant presence of 
 her mother, the poverty and disorder in the house 
 —all this, beginning with the very freedom which 
 the young girl enjoyed, together with the con- 
 sciousness of her own superiority to the people 
 who surrounded her, had developed in her a cer- 
 tain half-scornful carelessness and lack of exac- 
 tion. No matter what happened — whether Voni- 
 
 46
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 faty came to report that there was no sugar, or 
 some wretched bit of gossip came to light, or the 
 visitors got into a quarrel among themselves, she 
 merely shook her curls, and said: "Nonsense!" 
 — and grieved very little over it. 
 
 On the contrary, all my blood would begin to 
 seethe when Malevsky would approach her, 
 swaying his body cunningly like a fox, lean ele- 
 gantly over the back of her chair and begin to 
 whisper in her ear with a conceited and challeng- 
 ing smile, while she would fold her arms on her 
 breast, gaze attentively at him and smile also, 
 shaking her head the while. 
 
 " What possesses you to receive Malevsky? "— 
 I asked her one day. 
 
 " Why, he has such handsome eyes," — she re- 
 plied. — " But that is no business of yours." 
 
 " You are not to think that I am in love with 
 him,"— she said to me on another occasion. — 
 " No ; I cannot love people upon whom I am 
 forced to look down. I must have some one who 
 can subdue me. . . . And I shall not hit upon 
 such an one, for God is merciful! I shall not 
 spare any one who falls into my paws— no, no!" 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you will never fall 
 in love? " 
 
 " And how about you? Don't I love you? "— 
 she said, tapping me on the nose with the tip of 
 her glove. 
 
 Yes, Zinaida made great fun of me. For the 
 
 47 
 
 ^
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 space of three weeks I saw her every day; and 
 what was there that she did not do to me! She 
 came to us rarely, but I did not regret that ; in our 
 house she was converted into a young lady, a Prin- 
 cess, — and I avoided her. I was afraid of betray- 
 ing myself to my mother ; she was not at all well 
 disposed toward Zinaida, and kept a disagreeable 
 watch on us. I was not so much afraid of my fa- 
 ther; he did not appear to notice me, and talked 
 little with her, but that little in a peculiarly clever 
 and significant manner. I ceased to work, to 
 read; I even ceased to stroll about the environs 
 and to ride on horseback. Like a beetle tied by 
 the leg, I hovered incessantly around the beloved 
 wing ; I believe I would have liked to remain there 
 
 forever but that was impossible. My 
 
 mother grumbled at me, and sometimes Zinaida 
 herself drove me out. On such occasions I shut 
 myself up in my own room, or walked off to the 
 very end of the garden, climbed upon the sound 
 remnant of a tall stone hothouse, and dangling 
 my legs over the wall, I sat there for hours and 
 stared, — stared without seeing anything. White 
 butterflies lazily flitted among the nettles beside 
 me ; an audacious sparrow perched not far off on 
 the half -demolished red bricks and twittered in an 
 irritating manner, incessantly twisting his whole 
 body about and spreading out his tail; the still 
 distrustful crows now and then emitted a caw, as 
 they sat high, high above me on the naked crest 
 
 48
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 of a birch-tree ; the sun and the wind played softly- 
 through its sparse branches; the chiming of the 
 bells, calm and melancholy, at the Don Monastery 
 was wafted to me now and then, — and I sat on, 
 gazing and listening, and became filled with a cer- 
 tain nameless sensation which embraced every- 
 thing: sadness and joy, and a presentiment of the 
 future, and the desire and the fear of life. But 
 I understood nothing at the time of all that which 
 was fermenting within me, or I would have called 
 it all by one name, the name of Zinaida. 
 
 But Zinaida continued to play with me as a cat 
 plays with a mouse. Now she coquetted with me, 
 and I grew agitated and melted with emotion; 
 now she repulsed me, and I dared not approach 
 her, dared not look at her. 
 
 I remember that she was very cold toward me 
 for several days in succession and I thoroughly 
 quailed, and when I timidly ran to the wing to 
 see them, I tried to keep near the old Princess, de- 
 spite the fact that she was scolding and screaming 
 a great deal just at that time: her affairs con- 
 nected with her notes of hand were going badly, 
 and she had also had two scenes with the police- 
 captain of the precinct. 
 
 One day I was walking through the garden, 
 past the familiar fence, when I caught sight of 
 Zinaida. Propped up on both arms, she was sit- 
 ting motionless on the grass. I tried to withdraw 
 cautiously, but she suddenly raised her head and 
 
 49
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 made an imperious sign to me. I became petrified 
 on the spot; I did not understand her the first 
 time. She repeated her sign. I immediately 
 sprang over the fence and ran joyfully to her; 
 but she stopped me with a look and pointed to the 
 path a couple of paces from her. In my confu- 
 sion, not knowing what to do, I knelt down on the 
 edge of the path. She was so pale, such bitter 
 grief, such profound weariness were revealed in 
 her every feature, that my heart contracted within 
 me, and I involuntarily murmured: " What is the 
 matter with you? " 
 
 Zinaida put out her hand, plucked a blade of 
 grass, bit it, and tossed it away as far as she could. 
 
 " Do you love me very much? " — she inquired 
 suddenly.-" Yes? " 
 
 I made no answer, — and what answer was there 
 for me to make? 
 
 " Yes," — she repeated, gazing at me as before. 
 — " It is so. They are the same eyes," — she 
 added, becoming pensive, and covering her face 
 with her hands. — " Everything has become repul- 
 sive to me," — she whispered; — " I would like to 
 go to the end of the world ; I cannot endure this, 
 I cannot reconcile myself. . . . And what is in 
 store for me? .... Akh, I am heavy at heart 
 .... my God, how heavy at heart! " 
 
 " Why? " — I timidly inquired. 
 
 Zinaida did not answer me and merely 
 shrugged her shoulders. I continued to kneel and 
 
 50
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 to gaze at her with profound melancholy. Every 
 word of hers fairly cut me to the heart. At that 
 moment, I think I would willingly have given my 
 life to keep her from grieving. I gazed at her, 
 and nevertheless, not understanding why she was 
 heavy at heart, I vividly pictured to myself how, 
 in a fit of uncontrollable sorrow, she had suddenly 
 gone into the garden, and had fallen on the earth, 
 as though she had been mowed down. All around 
 was bright and green; the breeze was rustling in 
 the foliage of the trees, now and then rocking a 
 branch of raspberry over Zinaida's head. Doves 
 were cooing somewhere and the bees were hum- 
 ming as they flew low over the scanty grass. 
 Overhead the sky shone blue, — but I was so 
 sad 
 
 " Recite some poetry to me," — said Zinaida in 
 a low voice, leaning on her elbow. — " I like to 
 hear you recite verses. You make them go in a 
 sing-song, but that does not matter, it is youth- 
 ful. Recite to me: ' On the Hills of Georgia.'— 
 Only, sit down first." 
 
 I sat down and recited, " On the Hills of 
 Georgia." 
 
 " ' That it is impossible not to love,' " — repeated 
 Zinaida. — " That is why poetry is so nice; it says 
 to us that which does not exist, and which is not 
 only better than what does exist, but even more 
 like the truth. . . . " ' That it is impossible not to 
 love' ? — I would like to, but cannot! "—Again she 
 
 51
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 fell silent for a space, then suddenly started and 
 rose to her feet.—" Come along. Maidanoff is 
 sitting with mamma ; he brought his poem to me, 
 but I left him. He also is embittered now .... 
 how can it be helped? Some day you will find out 
 . . . . but you must not be angry with me ! " 
 
 Zinaida hastily squeezed my hand, and ran on 
 ahead. We returned to the wing. Maidanoff set 
 to reading us his poem of " The Murderer," 
 which had only just been printed, but I did not 
 listen. He shrieked out his four-footed iambics 
 in a sing-song voice; the rhymes alternated and 
 jingled like sleigh-bells, hollow and loud; but I 
 kept staring all the while at Zinaida, and striving 
 to understand the meaning of her strange words. 
 
 "Or, perchance, a secret rival 
 Has unexpectedly subjugated thee? " 
 
 suddenly exclaimed MaidanoiF through his nose 
 — and my eyes and Zinaida's met. She dropped 
 hers and blushed faintly. I saw that she was 
 blushing, and turned cold with fright. I had been 
 jealous before, but only at that moment did the 
 thought that she had fallen in love flash through 
 my mind. "My God! She is in love I " 
 
 X 
 
 My real tortures began from that moment. I 
 cudgelled my brains, I pondered and pondered 
 again, and watched Zinaida importunately, but 
 
 52
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 secretly, as far as possible. A change had taken 
 place in her, that was evident. She took to going 
 off alone to walk, and walked a long while. 
 Sometimes she did not show herself to her visi- 
 tors; she sat for hours together in her cham- 
 ber. This had not been her habit hitherto. 
 Suddenly I became — or it seefned to me that I 
 became — extremely penetrating. " Is it he? Or 
 is it not he? " — I asked myself, as in trepidation 
 I mentally ran from one of her admirers to an- 
 other. Count Malevsky ( although I felt ashamed 
 to admit it for Zinaida's sake) privately seemed 
 to me more dangerous than the others. 
 
 My powers of observation extended no further 
 than the end of my own nose, and my dissimula- 
 tion probably failed to deceive any one; at all 
 events, Doctor Liishin speedily saw through me. 
 Moreover, he also had undergone a change of late ; 
 he had grown thin, he laughed as frequently as 
 ever, but somehow it was in a duller, more spite- 
 ful, a briefer way; — an involuntary, nervous irri- 
 tability had replaced his former light irony and 
 feigned cynicism. 
 
 " Why are you forever tagging on here, j'^oung 
 man? " — he said to me one day, when he was left 
 alone with me in the Zasyekins' drawing-room. 
 (The young Princess had not yet returned from 
 her stroll and the shrill voice of the old Princess 
 was resounding in the upper story; she was 
 WTangling with her maid.)—" You ought to be 
 
 53
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 studying your lessons, working while you are 
 young;— but instead of that, what are you do- 
 ing? 
 
 " You cannot tell whether I work at home,"— I 
 retorted not without arrogance, but also not with- 
 out confusion. 
 
 "Much work you do! That's not what you 
 have in your head. Well, I will not dispute . . . 
 at your age, that is in the natural order of things. 
 But your choice is far from a happy one. Can't 
 you see what sort of a house this is? " 
 
 " I do not understand you," — I remarked. 
 
 " You don't understand me? So much the 
 worse for you. I regard it as my duty to warn 
 you. Fellows like me, old bachelors, may sit here : 
 what harm will it do us? We are a hardened lot. 
 You can't pierce our hide, but your skin is still 
 tender; the air here is injurious for you, — believe 
 me, you may become infected." 
 
 " How so? " 
 
 " Because you may. Are you healthy now? 
 Are you in a normal condition? Is what you are 
 feeling useful to you, good for you? " 
 
 "But what am I feeling? "—said I;— and in 
 my secret soul I admitted that the doctor was 
 right. 
 
 " Eh, young man, young man," — pursued the 
 doctor, with an expression as though something 
 extremely insulting to me were contained in those 
 two words; — "there 's no use in your dissimulat- 
 
 54
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ing, for what you have in your soul you still show 
 in your face, thank God ! But what 's the use of 
 arguing? I would not come hither myself, if . . . ." 
 (the doctor set his teeth) . ..." if I were not such 
 an eccentric fellow. Only this is what amazes me 
 —how you, with your intelligence, can fail to see 
 what is going on around you." 
 
 " But what is going on? " — I interposed, prick- 
 ing up my ears. 
 
 The doctor looked at me with a sort of sneer- 
 ing compassion. 
 
 " A nice person I am,"— said he, as though 
 speaking to himself.—" What possessed me to 
 say that to him. In a word,"— he added, raising 
 his voice,— " I repeat to you: the atmosphere 
 here is not good for you. You find it pleasant 
 here, and no wonder! And the scent of a hot- 
 house is pleasant also — but one cannot Hve in 
 it! Hey! hearken to me,— set to work again on 
 KaidanofF." 
 
 The old Princess entered and began to com- 
 plain to the doctor of toothache. Then Zinaida 
 made her appearance. 
 
 " Here,"— added the old Princess,—" scold 
 her, doctor, do. She drinks iced water all day 
 long; is that healthy for her, with her weak 
 chest? " 
 
 " Why do you do that? "—inquired Lushin. 
 
 " But what result can it have? " 
 
 " What result? You may take cold and die." 
 
 55
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Really? Is it possible? Well, aU right - 
 that just suits me! " 
 
 "You don't say so! "—growled the doctor. 
 The old Princess went away. 
 
 "I do say so,"— retorted Zinaida.— "Is living 
 such a cheerful thing? Look about you. . . Well 
 —is it nice? Or do you think that I do not under- 
 stand it, do not feel it? It affords me pleasure to 
 drink iced water, and you can seriously assure me 
 that such a life is worth too much for me to im- 
 peril it for a moment's pleasure— I do not speak 
 of happiness." 
 
 "Well, yes,"— remarked Liishin:—" caprice 
 
 and independence Those two words sum you 
 
 up completely; your whole nature lies in those 
 two words." 
 
 Zinaida burst into a nervous laugh. 
 
 " You 're too late by one mail, my dear doctor. 
 You observe badly; you are falling behind.— Put 
 on your spectacles.— I am in no mood for ca- 
 prices now; how jolly to play pranks on you or 
 
 on myself !— and as for independence M'sieu 
 
 Voldemar,"— added Zinaida, suddenly stamping 
 her foot,—" don't wear a melancholy face. I 
 cannot endure to have people commiserating me." 
 — She hastily withdrew. 
 
 " This atmosphere is injurious, injurious to 
 you, young man,"— said Lushin to me once more. 
 
 56
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 XI 
 
 On the evening of that same day the customary- 
 visitors assembled at the Zasyekins' ; I was among 
 the number. 
 
 The conversation turned on MaidanoiF's poem; 
 Zinaida candidly praised it.—" But do you know 
 what?"— she said:—" If I were a poet, I would 
 select other subjects. Perhaps this is all non- 
 sense, but strange thoughts sometimes come into 
 my head, especially when I am wakeful toward 
 morning, when the sky is beginning to turn pink 
 and grey.— I would, for example .... You will 
 not laugh at me? " 
 
 " No! No! "—we all exclaimed with one voice. 
 
 " I would depict,"— she went on, crossing her 
 arms on her breast, and turning her eyes aside,— 
 " a whole company of young girls, by night, in a 
 big boat, on a tranquil river. The moon is shin- 
 ing, and they are all in white and wear garlands 
 of white flowers, and they are singing, you know, 
 something in the nature of a hymn." 
 
 "I understand, I understand, go on,"— said 
 Maidanoff significantly and dreamily. 
 
 " Suddenly there is a noise— laughter, torches, 
 tambourines on the shore. ... It is a throng of 
 bacchantes running with songs and outcries. It is 
 your business to draw the picture, Mr. Poet .... 
 
 57
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 only I would like to have the torches red and very 
 smoky, and that the eyes of the bacchantes should 
 gleam beneath their wreaths, and that the wreaths 
 should be dark. Don't forget also tiger-skins and 
 cups— and gold, a great deal of gold." 
 
 " But where is the gold to be? " inquired Mai- 
 danoff , tossing back his lank hair and inflating his 
 nostrils. 
 
 " Where? On the shoulders, the hands, the 
 feet, everywhere. They say that in ancient times 
 women wore golden rings on their ankles. — The 
 bacchantes call the young girls in the boat to 
 come to them. The girls have ceased to chant 
 their hymn,— they cannot go on with it,— but they 
 do not stir; the river drifts them to the shore. 
 And now suddenly one of them rises quietly. . . . 
 This must be well described : how she rises quietly 
 in the moonlight, and how startled her compan- 
 ions are. . . . She has stepped over the edge of 
 the boat, the bacchantes have surrounded her, 
 they have dashed off into the night, into the 
 gloom. . . . Present at this point smoke in clouds ; 
 and everything has become thoroughly confused. 
 Nothing is to be heard but their whimpering, and 
 her wreath has been left lying on the shore." 
 
 Zinaida ceased speaking. " Oh, she is in love I " 
 — I thought again. 
 
 " Is that all? "—asked MaidanoiF. 
 
 " That is all,"— she replied. 
 
 " That cannot be made the subject of an entire 
 
 58
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 poem,"— he remarked pompously,— *' but I will 
 utilise your idea for some lyrical verses." 
 
 " In the romantic vein? "—asked Malevsky. 
 
 " Of course, in the romantic vein— in Byron's 
 style." 
 
 " But in my opinion, Hugo is better than By- 
 ron,"— remarked the young Count, carelessly:— 
 " he is more interesting." 
 
 " Hugo is a writer of the first class,"— rejoined 
 MaidanofF, " and my friend TonkosheefF, in his 
 Spanish romance, ' El Trovador '...." 
 
 " Ah, that 's the book with the question-marks 
 turned upside down? "—interrupted Zinaida. 
 
 " Yes. That is the accepted custom among the 
 Spaniards. I was about to say that Tonko- 
 sheeiF " 
 
 " Come now! You will begin to wrangle again 
 about classicism and romanticism,"— Zinaida in- 
 terrupted him again.—" Let us rather play . . . ." 
 
 " At forfeits? "—put in Lushin. 
 
 " No, forfeits is tiresome; but at comparisons." 
 (This game had been invented by Zinaida her- 
 self; some object was named, and each person 
 tried to compare it with something or other, and 
 the one who matched the thing with the best com- 
 parison received a prize.) She went to the win- 
 dow. The sun had just set; long, crimson clouds 
 hung high aloft in the sky. 
 
 " What are those clouds like? "—inquired Zi- 
 naida and, without waiting for our answers, she 
 
 59
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 said: — " I think that they resemble those crimson 
 sails which were on Cleopatra's golden ship, when 
 she went to meet Antony. You were telling me 
 about that not long ago, do you remember, Mai- 
 danoff?" 
 
 All of us, like Polonius in " Hamlet," decided 
 that the clouds reminded us precisely of those 
 sails, and that none of us could find a better com- 
 parison. 
 
 " And how old was Antony at that time? " — 
 asked Zinaida. 
 
 " He was assuredly still a young man," — re- 
 marked Malevsky. 
 
 " Yes, he was young,"— assented Maidanoff 
 confidently. 
 
 " Excuse me,"— exclaimed Liishin,— " he was 
 over forty years of age." 
 
 " Over forty years of age,"— repeated Zinaida, 
 darting a swift glance at him. . . . 
 
 I soon went home.—" She is in love," my lips 
 whispered involuntarily. ..." But with whom? " 
 
 XII 
 
 The days passed by. Zinaida grew more and 
 more strange, more and more incomprehensible. 
 One day I entered her house and found her sitting 
 on a straw-bottomed chair, with her head pressed 
 against the sharp edge of a table. She straight- 
 
 60
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ened up ... . her face was again all bathed in 
 tears. 
 
 "Ah! It's you!" — she said, with a harsh 
 grimace. — " Come hither." 
 
 I went up to her: she laid her hand on my head 
 and, suddenly seizing me by the hair, began to 
 pull it. 
 
 " It hurts "... I said at last. 
 
 "Ah! It hurts! And doesn't it hurt me? 
 Does n't it hurt me? " — she repeated. 
 
 "Ai!" — she suddenly cried, perceiving that 
 she had pulled out a small tuft of my hair.— 
 " What have I done? Poor M'sieu Voldemar! " 
 She carefully straightened out the hairs she had 
 plucked out, wound them round her finger, and 
 twisted them into a ring. 
 
 " I will put your hair in my locket and wear 
 it," — she said, and tears glistened in her eyes. — 
 " Perhaps that will comfort you a little .... but 
 now, good-bye." 
 
 I returned home and found an unpleasant state 
 of things there. A scene was in progress between 
 my father and my mother; she was upbraiding 
 him for something or other, while he, according to 
 his wont, was maintaining a cold, polite silence — 
 and speedily went away. I could not hear what 
 my mother was talking about, neither did I care 
 to know: I remember only, that, at the conclu- 
 sion of the scene, she ordered me to be called to 
 her boudoir, and expressed herself with great dis- 
 
 61
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 satisfaction about my frequent visits at the house 
 of the old Princess, who was, according to her as- 
 sertions, une femme capable de tout. I kissed her 
 hand ( I always did that when I wanted to put an 
 end to the conversation) , and went off to my own 
 room. Zinaida's tears had completely discom- 
 fited me; I positively did not know what to 
 think, and was ready to cry myself: I was still a 
 child, in spite of my sixteen years. I thought no 
 more of Malevsky, although ByelovzorofF be- 
 came more and more menacing every day, and 
 glared at the shifty Count like a wolf at a sheep ; 
 but I was not thinking of anything or of any- 
 body. I lost myself in conjectures and kept seek- 
 ing isolated spots. I took a special fancy to the 
 ruins of the hothouse. I could clamber up on the 
 high wall, seat myself, and sit there such an un- 
 happy, lonely, and sad youth that I felt sorry for 
 myself— and how delightful those mournful sen- 
 sations were, how I gloated over them ! . . . 
 
 One day, I was sitting thus on the wall, gazing 
 off into the distance and listening to the chiming 
 of the bells .... when suddenly something ran 
 over me — not a breeze exactly, not a shiver, but 
 something resembling a breath, the consciousness 
 of some one's proximity. ... I dropped my eyes. 
 Below me, in a light grey gown, with a pink para- 
 sol on her shoulder, Zinaida was walking hastily 
 along the road. She saw me, halted, and, pushing 
 
 62
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 up the brim of her straw hat, raised her velvety 
 eyes to mine. 
 
 " What are you doing there, on such a height? " 
 —she asked me, with a strange sort of smile.— 
 " There now,"— she went on,—" you are always 
 declaring that you love me— jump down to me 
 here on the road if you really do love me." 
 
 Before the words were well out of Zinaida's 
 mouth I had flown down, exactly as though some 
 one had given me a push from behind. The wall 
 was about two fathoms high. I landed on the 
 ground with my feet, but the shock was so violent 
 that I could not retain my balance; I fell, and 
 lost consciousness for a moment. When I came 
 to myself I felt, without opening my eyes, that 
 Zinaida was by my side. — " My dear boy," — she 
 was saying, as she bent over me — and tender anxi- 
 ety was audible in her voice — " how couldst thou 
 do that, how couldst thou obey? .... I love thee 
 
 • ?? 
 
 • • • • XxO\3* 
 
 Her breast was heaving beside me, her hands 
 were touching my head, and suddenly — what were 
 my sensations then! — her soft, fresh lips began 
 to cover my whole face with kisses .... they 
 touched my lips. . . . But at this point Zinaida 
 probably divined from the expression of my face 
 that I had already recovered consciousness, al- 
 though I still did not open my eyes — and swiftly 
 rising to her feet, she said:—" Come, get up, you 
 
 63
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 rogue, you foolish fellow I Why do you lie there 
 in the dust? "—I got up. 
 
 " Give me my parasol," — said Zinaida. — " I 
 have thrown it somewhere ; and don't look at me 
 
 like that what nonsense is this? You are 
 
 hurt? You have burned yourself with the nettles, 
 I suppose. Don't look at me like that, I tell 
 you. . . . Why, he understands nothing, he doesn't 
 answer me,"— she added, as though speaking to 
 herself. ..." Go home, M'sieu Voldemar, brush 
 yourself off, and don't dare to follow me— if you 
 do I shall be very angry, and I shall never 
 again . . . ." 
 
 She did not finish her speech and walked briskly 
 away, while I sat down by the roadside . . . my 
 legs would not support me. The nettles had 
 stung my hands, my back ached, and my head was 
 reeling; but the sensation of beatitude which I 
 then experienced has never since been repeated in 
 my life. It hung like a sweet pain in all my limbs 
 and broke out at last in rapturous leaps and ex- 
 clamations. As a matter of fact, I was still a 
 child. 
 
 XIII 
 
 I WAS SO happy and proud all that day; I pre- 
 served so vividly on my visage the feeling of Zi- 
 naida's kisses ; I recalled her every word with such 
 ecstasy; I so cherished my unexpected happiness 
 that I even became frightened; I did not even 
 
 64
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 wish to see her who was the cause of those new 
 sensations. It seemed to me that I could ask 
 nothing more of Fate, that now I must " take 
 and draw a deep breath for the last time, and 
 die." On the other hand, when I set off for the 
 wing next day, I felt a great agitation, which I 
 vainly endeavoured to conceal beneath the dis- 
 creet facial ease suitable for a man who wishes to 
 let it be understood that he knows how to keep a 
 secret. Zinaida received me very simply, without 
 any emotion, merely shaking her finger at me and 
 asking: Had I any bruises? All my discreet ease 
 of manner and mysteriousness instantly disap- 
 peared, and along with them my agitation. Of 
 course I had not expected anything in particular, 
 but Zinaida's composure acted on me like a dash 
 of cold water. I understood that I was a child in 
 her eyes — and my heart waxed very heavy! Zi- 
 naida paced to and fro in the room, smiling 
 swiftly every time she glanced at me; but her 
 
 thoughts were far away, I saw that clearly 
 
 " Shall I allude to what happened yesterday my- 
 self,"— I thought;— " shall I ask her where she 
 was going in such haste, in order to find out, 
 definitively? " . . . . but I merely waved my hand 
 in despair and sat down in a corner. 
 
 Byelovzoroff entered; I was delighted to see 
 him. 
 
 " I have not found you a gentle saddle-horse," 
 — he began in a surly tone;— *' Freitag vouches 
 
 65
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 to me for one — but I am not convinced. I am 
 afraid." 
 
 " Of what are you afraid, allow me to in- 
 quire ? " asked Zinaida. 
 
 " Of what? Why, you don't know how to ride. 
 God forbid that any accident should happen! 
 And what has put that freak into your head? " 
 
 " Come, that 's my affair, M'sieu my wild beast. 
 In that case, I will ask Piotr Vasilievitch " . . . . 
 (My father was called Piotr Vasilievitch .... I 
 was amazed that she should mention his name so 
 lightly and freely, exactly as though she were 
 convinced of his readiness to serve her.) 
 
 "You don't say so!" — retorted Byelovzoroff. 
 — " Is it with him that you wish to ride? " 
 
 " With him or some one else, —that makes no 
 difference to you. Only not with you." 
 
 " Not with me," — said Byelovzoroff.—" As 
 you like. What does it matter? I will get you 
 the horse." 
 
 " But see to it that it is not a cow-like beast. I 
 warn you in advance that I mean to gallop." 
 
 " Gallop, if you wish. . . . But is it with Malev- 
 sky that you are going to ride? " 
 
 " And why should n't I ride with him, warrior? 
 Come, quiet down. I '11 take you too. You know 
 that for me Malevsky is now— fie! "—She shook 
 her head. 
 
 " You say that just to console me," — growled 
 Byelovzoroff. 
 
 66
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Zinaida narrowed her eyes. — "Does that con- 
 sole you? . . oh . . oh . . . oh . . warrior! "—she said 
 at last, as though unable to find any other word.— 
 " And would you like to ride with us, M'sieu Vol- 
 demar? " 
 
 " I 'm not fond of riding .... in a large party," 
 ... I muttered, without raising my eyes. 
 
 " You prefer a tete-a-tete? . . . Well, every one 
 to his taste," — she said, with a sigh. — " But go, 
 ByelovzorofF, make an effort. I want the horse 
 for to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes; but where am I to get the money? " — 
 interposed the old Princess. 
 
 Zinaida frowned. 
 
 " I am not asking any from you ; Byelovzoroff 
 will trust me." 
 
 " He will, he will," .... grumbled the old Prin- 
 cess — and suddenly screamed at the top of her 
 voice: — " Dunyashka! " 
 
 '' Mamariy I made you a present of a bell," — re- 
 marked the young Princess. 
 
 " Dunyashka! " — repeated the old woman. 
 
 ByelovzorofF bowed himself out; I went out 
 with him. Zinaida did not detain me. 
 
 XIV 
 
 I ROSE early the next morning, cut myself a staff, 
 and went off beyond the city barrier. " I '11 have 
 a walk and banish my grief,"— I said to myself. 
 
 67
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 It was a beautiful day, brilliant but not too hot; 
 a cheerful, fresh breeze was blowing over the 
 earth and rustling and playing moderately, keep- 
 ing in constant motion and agitating nothing. 
 For a long time I roamed about on the hills and 
 in the forests. I did not feel happy; I had left 
 home with the intention of surrendering myself 
 to melancholy;— but youth, the fine weather, the 
 fresh air, the diversion of brisk pedestrian exer- 
 ercise, the delight of lying in solitude on the thick 
 grass, produced their effect ; the memory of those 
 unforgettable words, of those kisses, again thrust 
 themselves into my soul. It was pleasant to me 
 to think that Zinaida could not, nevertheless, fail 
 to do justice to my decision, to my heroism. . . . 
 " Others are better for her than I," — I thought: 
 — " so be it! On the other hand, the others only 
 say what they will do, but I have done it! And 
 what else am I capable of doing for her? " — My 
 imagination began to ferment. I began to pic- 
 ture to myself how I would save her from the 
 hands of enemies; how, all bathed in blood, I 
 would wrest her out of prison; how I would 
 die at her feet. I recalled a picture which hung 
 in our drawing-room of Malek-Adel carrying 
 off Matilda — and thereupon became engrossed 
 in the appearance of a big, speckled woodpecker 
 which was busily ascending the slender trunk 
 of a birch-tree, and uneasily peering out from 
 behind it, now on the right, now on the left, 
 
 68
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 like a musician from behind the neck of his 
 bass-viol. 
 
 Then I began to sing: " Not the white snows," 
 — and ran off into the romance which was well 
 known at that period, " I will await thee when the 
 playful breeze " ; then I began to recite aloud 
 Ermak's invocation to the stars in KhomyakoiF's 
 tragedy ; I tried to compose something in a senti- 
 mental vein; I even thought out the line where- 
 with the whole poem was to conclude: " Oh, Zi- 
 naida! Zinaidal" — But it came to nothing. 
 Meanwhile, dinner-time was approaching. I de- 
 scended into the valley; a narrow, sandy path 
 wound through it and led toward the town. I 
 strolled along that path. . . . The dull tramp- 
 ling of horses' hoofs resounded behind me. I 
 glanced round, involuntarily came to a stand- 
 still and pulled off my cap. I beheld my 
 father and Zinaida. They were riding side 
 by side. My father was saying something to 
 her, bending his whole body toward her, 
 and resting his hand on the neck of her horse; 
 he was smiling. Zinaida was listening to him in 
 silence, with her eyes severely downcast and lips 
 compressed. At first I saw only them; it was 
 not until several moments later that ByelovzoroiF 
 made his appearance from round a turn in the 
 valley, dressed in hussar uniform with pelisse, and 
 mounted on a foam-flecked black horse. The 
 good steed was tossing his head, snorting and cur- 
 
 69
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 vetting; the rider was both reining him in and 
 spurring him on. I stepped aside. My father 
 gathered up his reins and moved away from Zi- 
 naida; she slowly raised her eyes to his — and both 
 set off at a gallop, . . . ByelovzorofF dashed head- 
 long after them with clanking sword. " He is as 
 red as a crab,"— I thought,—" and she. . . . Why 
 is she so pale? She has been riding the whole 
 morning — and yet she is pale? " 
 
 I redoubled my pace and managed to reach 
 home just before dinner. My father was already 
 sitting, re-dressed, well-washed and fresh, beside 
 my mother's arm-chair, and reading aloud to her 
 in his even, sonorous voice, the feuilleton of the 
 Journal des Debats; but my mother was listen- 
 ing to him inattentively and, on catching sight of 
 me, inquired where I had been all day, adding, 
 that she did not like to have me prowling about 
 God only knew where and God only knew with 
 whom. "But I have been walking alone,"— I 
 was on the point of replying; but I glanced at 
 my father and for some reason or other held my 
 peace. 
 
 XV 
 
 During the course of the next five or six days I 
 hardly saw Zinaida; she gave it out that she was 
 ill, which did not, however, prevent the habitual 
 visitors from presenting themselves at the wing 
 — " to take their turn in attendance,"— as they 
 
 70
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 expressed it; — all except MaidanofF, who imme- 
 diately became dispirited as soon as he had no 
 opportunity to go into raptures. ByelovzorofF 
 sat morosely in a corner, all tightly buttoned up 
 and red in the face ; on Count Malevsky's delicate 
 visage hovered constantly a sort of evil smile; he 
 really had fallen into disfavour with Zinaida and 
 listened with particular pains to the old Princess, 
 and drove with her to the Governor-General's in 
 a hired carriage. But this trip proved unsuccess- 
 ful and even resulted in an unpleasantness for 
 Malevsky : he was reminded of some row with cer- 
 tain Puteisk officers, and was compelled, in self- 
 justification, to say that he was inexperienced at 
 the time. Lushin came twice a day, but did not 
 remain long. I was somewhat afraid of him after 
 our last explanation and, at the same time, I felt 
 a sincere attachment for him. One day he went 
 for a stroll with me in the Neskiitchny Park, was 
 very good-natured and amiable, imparted to me 
 the names and properties of various plants and 
 flowers, and suddenly exclaimed — without rhyme 
 or reason, as the saying is— as he smote himself on 
 the brow: " And I, like a fool, thought she was a 
 coquette ! Evidently, it is sweet to sacrifice one's 
 self — for some people! " 
 
 " What do you mean to say by that? " — I 
 asked. 
 
 " I don't mean to say anything to you," — re- 
 turned Lushin, abruptly. 
 
 71
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Zinaida avoided me; my appearance — I could 
 not but perceive the fact— produced an unpleas- 
 ant impression on her. She involuntarily turned 
 away from me ... . involuntarily; that was 
 what was bitter, that was what broke my heart! 
 But there was no help for it and I tried to keep 
 out of her sight and only stand guard over her 
 from a distance, in which I was not always suc- 
 cessful. As before, something incomprehensible 
 was taking place with her; her face had become 
 different— she was altogether a different person. 
 I was particularly struck by the change which had 
 taken place in her on a certain warm, tranquil 
 evening. I was sitting on a low bench under a 
 wide-spreading elder-bush; I loved that httle 
 nook ; the window of Zinaida's chamber was visi- 
 ble thence. I was sitting there ; over my head, in 
 the darkened foliage, a tiny bird was rummaging 
 fussily about; a great cat with outstretched back 
 had stolen into the garden, and the first beetles 
 were booming heavily in the air, which was still 
 transparent although no longer light. I sat there 
 and stared at the window, and waited to see whe- 
 ther some one would not open it : and, in fact, it 
 did open, and Zinaida made her appearance in it. 
 She wore a white gown, and she herself— her face, 
 her shoulders and her hands— was pale to white- 
 ness. She remained for a long time motionless, 
 and for a long time stared, without moving, 
 straight in front of her from beneath her con- 
 
 72
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 tracted brows. I did not recognise that look in 
 her. Then she clasped her hands very, very 
 tightly, raised them to her lips, to her forehead — 
 and suddenly, unlocking her fingers, pushed 
 her hair away from her ears, shook it back and, 
 throwing her head downward from above with a 
 certain decisiveness, she shut the window with a 
 bang. 
 
 Two days later she met me in the park. I tried 
 to step aside, but she stopped me. 
 
 " Give me your hand,"— she said to me, with 
 her former affection. — " It is a long time since 
 you and I have had a chat." 
 
 I looked at her; her eyes were beaming softly 
 and her face was smiling, as though athwart a 
 mist. 
 
 " Are you still ailing? " — I asked her. 
 
 " No, everything has passed off now," — she re- 
 plied, breaking off a small, red rose. — " I am a 
 little tired, but that will pass off also." 
 
 " And will you be once more the same as you 
 used to be? "—I queried. 
 
 Zinaida raised the rose to her face, and it 
 seemed to me as though the reflection of the bril- 
 liant petals fell upon her cheeks.—" Have I 
 changed? "—she asked me. 
 
 " Yes, you have changed," — I replied in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " I was cold toward you,— I know that,"— be- 
 gan Zinaida; — " but you must not pay any heed 
 
 73
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 to that. ... I could not do otherwise. . . . 
 Come, what 's the use of talking about that? " 
 
 " You do not want me to love you — that 's 
 what!" I exclaimed gloomily, with involuntary 
 impetuosity. 
 
 " Yes, love me, but not as before." 
 
 "How then?" 
 
 "Let us be friends, — that is how!" — Zinaida 
 allowed me to smell of the rose. — " Listen; I am 
 much older than you, you know — I might be your 
 aunt, really; well, if not your aunt, then your 
 elder sister. While you . . . ." 
 
 " I am a child to you," — I interrupted her. 
 
 " Well, yes, you are a child, but a dear, good, 
 clever child, of whom I am very fond. Do you 
 know what? I will appoint you to the post of my 
 page from this day forth ; and j^ou are not to for- 
 get that pages must not be separated from their 
 mistress. Here is a token of your new dignity 
 for you," — she added, sticking the rose into the 
 button-hole of my round-jacket; " a token of our 
 favour toward you." 
 
 " I have received many favours from you in 
 the past," — I murmured. 
 
 " Ah! " — said Zinaida, and darting a sidelong 
 glance at me. — "What a memory you have! 
 Well? And I am ready now also . . . ." 
 
 And bending toward me, she imprinted on my 
 brow a pure, calm kiss. 
 
 I only stared at her— but she turned away and, 
 
 74
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 saying,—" Follow me, my page,"— walked to 
 the wing. I followed her— and was in a con- 
 stant state of bewilderment. — " Is it possible," — 
 I thought,—" that this gentle, sensible young girl 
 is that same Zinaida whom I used to know?^' — 
 And her very walk seemed to me more quiet, her 
 whole figure more majestic, more graceful. . . . 
 And, my God! with what fresh violence did 
 love flame up within me ! 
 
 XVI 
 
 After dinner the visitors were assembled again 
 in the wing, and the young Princess came out to 
 them. The whole company was present, in full 
 force, as on that first evening, never to be forgot- 
 ten by me; even Nirmatzky had dragged himself 
 thither. MaidanofF had arrived earlier than all 
 the rest; he had brought some new verses. The 
 game of forfeits began again, but this time with- 
 out the strange sallies, without pranks and up- 
 roar; the gipsy element had vanished. Zinaida 
 gave a new mood to our gathering. I sat beside 
 her, as a page should. Among other things, she 
 proposed that the one whose forfeit was drawn 
 should narrate his dream; but this was not a suc- 
 cess. The dreams turned out to be either unin- 
 teresting (Byelovzoroff had dreamed that he had 
 fed his horse on carp, and that it had a wooden 
 head), or unnatural, fictitious. MaidanofF re- 
 
 75
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 galed us with a complete novel ; there were sepul- 
 chres and angels with harps, and burning lights 
 and sounds wafted from afar. Zinaida did not 
 allow him to finish. " If it is a question of inven- 
 tion," — said she, — " then let each one relate some- 
 thing which is positively made up." — Byelov- 
 zorofF had to speak first. 
 
 The young hussar became confused.—" I can- 
 not invent anything!" — he exclaimed. 
 
 "What nonsense!" — interposed Zinaida. — 
 " Come, imagine, for instance, that you are mar- 
 ried, and tell us how you would pass the time 
 with your wife. Would you lock her up? " 
 
 " I would." 
 
 " And would you sit with her yourself? " 
 
 " I certainly would sit with her myself." 
 
 " Very good. Well, and what if that bored 
 her, and she betrayed you? " 
 
 " I would kill her." 
 
 " Just so. Well, now supposing that I were 
 your wife, what would you do then? " 
 
 ByelovzorofF made no answer for a while.—" I 
 would kill myself . . . ." 
 
 Zinaida burst out laughing. — " I see that 
 there 's not much to be got out of you." 
 
 The second forfeit fell to Zinaida's share. She 
 raised her eyes to the ceiling and meditated. — 
 " See here," — she began at last,—" this is what I 
 have devised. . . . Imagine to yourselves a mag- 
 nificent palace, a summer night, and a marvellous 
 
 76
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ball. This ball is given by the young Queen. 
 Everywhere there are gold, marble, silk, lights, 
 diamonds, flowers, the smoke of incense— all the 
 whims of luxury." 
 
 " Do you love luxury? "—interrupted Liishin. 
 
 "Luxury is beautiful,"— she returned;—"! 
 love everything that is beautiful." 
 
 " More than what is fine? "—he asked. 
 
 " That is difficult; somehow I don't understand. 
 Don't bother me. So then, there is a magnificent 
 ball. There are many guests, they are all young, 
 very handsome, brave ; all are desperately in love 
 with the Queen." 
 
 "Are there no women among the guests?" — 
 inquired Malevsky. 
 
 " No— or stay— yes, there are." 
 
 " Also very handsome? " 
 
 " Charming. But the men are all in love with 
 the Queen. She is tall and slender; she wears a 
 small gold diadem on her black hair." 
 
 I looked at Zinaida— and at that moment she 
 seemed so far above us, her white forehead and 
 her impassive eyebrows exhaled so much clear in- 
 telligence and such sovereignty, that I said to my- 
 self : " Thou thyself art that Queen! " 
 
 "All throng around her," — pursued Zinaida; 
 — " all lavish the most flattering speeches on her." 
 
 " And is she fond of flattery? "—asked Lushin. 
 
 " How intolerable! He is continually inter- 
 rupting. . . Who does not like flattery? " 
 
 77
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 " One more final question,"— remarked Malev- 
 sky:— " Has the Queen a husband? " 
 
 " I have not thought about that. No, why 
 should she have a husband? " 
 
 "Of course,"— assented Malevsky;— " why 
 should she have a husband? " 
 
 " Silence! "—exclaimed, in English, Maida- 
 noff , who spoke French badly. 
 
 '' 31 erci/"— said Zinaida to him.—" So then, 
 the Queen listens to those speeches, listens to the 
 music, but does not look at a single one of the 
 guests. Six windows are open from top to bot- 
 tom, from ceiling to floor, and behind them are 
 the dark sky with great stars and the dark garden 
 with huge trees. The Queen gazes into the gar- 
 den. There, near the trees is a fountain : it gleams 
 white athwart the gloom— long, as long as a 
 spectre. The Queen hears the quiet plashing of 
 its waters in the midst of the conversation and the 
 music. She gazes and thinks : ' All of you gen- 
 tlemen are noble, clever, wealthy; you are all 
 ready to die at my feet, I rule over you; .... 
 but yonder, by the side of the fountain, by the 
 side of that plashing water, there is standing and 
 waiting for me the man whom I love, who rules 
 over me. He wears no rich garments, nor pre- 
 cious jewels; no one knows him; but he is waiting 
 for me, and is convinced that I shall come — and 
 I shall come, and there is no power in existence 
 which can stop me when I wish to go to him and 
 
 78
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 remain with him and lose myself with him yonder, 
 in the gloom of the park, beneath the rustling of 
 the trees, beneath the plashing of the foun- 
 tam .... 
 
 Zinaida ceased speaking. 
 
 "Is that an invention? "—asked Malevsky 
 
 slyly. 
 
 Zinaida did not even glance at him. 
 
 " But what should we do, gentlemen,"— sud- 
 denly spoke up Lushin, — " if we were among the 
 guests and knew about that lucky man by the 
 fountain? " 
 
 " Stay, stay," — interposed Zinaida: — " I my- 
 self will tell you what each one of you would do. 
 You, Byelovzoroff, would challenge him to a 
 duel ; you, Maidanoff , would write an epigram on 
 him. . . . But no — you do not know how to 
 write epigrams ; you would compose a long iambic 
 poem on him, after the style of Barbier, and 
 would insert your production in the Telegraph. 
 You, Nirmatzky, would borrow from him .... 
 no, you would lend him money on interest; you, 
 doctor . . . ." She paused. ..." I really do 
 not know about j'^ou, — what you would do." 
 
 " In my capacity of Court-physician," replied 
 Lushin, " I would advise the Queen not to give 
 balls when she did not feel in the mood for 
 guests . . . ." 
 
 " Perhaps you would be in the right. And you, 
 Count? " 
 
 79
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "And I?"— repeated Malevsky, with an evil 
 smile. 
 
 " And you would offer him some poisoned 
 sugar-plums." 
 
 Malevsky's face writhed a little and assumed 
 for a moment a Jewish expression; but he imme- 
 diately burst into a guffaw. 
 
 " As for you, M'sieu Voldemar " 
 
 went on Zinaida,— " but enough of this; let us 
 play at some other game." 
 
 " M'sieu Voldemar, in his capacity of page to 
 the Queen, would hold up her train when she ran 
 off into the park,"— remarked Malevsky vi- 
 ciously. 
 
 I flared up, but Zinaida swiftly laid her hand 
 on my shoulder and rising, said in a slightly 
 tremulous voice:— "I have never given Your 
 Radiance the right to be insolent, and therefore 
 I beg that you will withdraw."— She pointed him 
 to the door. 
 
 " Have mercy. Princess,"— mumbled Malev- 
 sky, turning pale all over. 
 
 " The Princess is right,"— exclaimed Byelov- 
 zoroff, rising to his feet also. 
 
 " By God! I never in the least expected this," 
 —went on Malevsky:—" I think there was noth- 
 ing in my words which .... I had no intention of 
 offending you. . . . Forgive me." 
 
 Zinaida surveyed him with a cold glance, and 
 smiled coldly.—" Remain, if you like,"— she said, 
 
 80
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 with a careless wave of her hand.—" M'sieu 
 Voldemar and I have taken oifence without 
 cause. You find it merry to jest. ... I wish you 
 weU." 
 
 " Forgive me,"— repeated Malevsky once 
 more; and I, recalhng Zinaida's movement, 
 thought again that a real queen could not have 
 ordered an insolent man out of the room with 
 more majesty. 
 
 The game of forfeits did not continue long 
 after this little scene ; all felt somewhat awkward, 
 not so much in consequence of the scene itself as 
 from another, not entirely defined, but oppressive 
 sensation. No one alluded to it, but each one was 
 conscious of its existence within himself and in his 
 neighbour. Maidanoff recited to us all his poems 
 —and Malevsky lauded them with exaggerated 
 warmth. 
 
 " How hard he is trying to appear amiable 
 now,"— Lushin whispered to me. 
 
 We soon dispersed. Zinaida had suddenly 
 grown pensive; the old Princess sent word that 
 she had a headache; Nirmatzky began to com- 
 plain of his rheumatism. . . . 
 
 For a long time I could not get to sleep; Zi- 
 naida's narrative had impressed me.—" Is it pos- 
 sible that it contains a hint? "—I asked myself: 
 — " and at whom was she hinting? And if there 
 really is some one to hint about .... what must 
 I decide to do? No, no, it cannot be,"— I whis- 
 
 81
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 pered, turning over from one burning cheek to 
 the other. . . . But I called to mind the expres- 
 sion of Zinaida's face during her narration. ... I 
 called to mind the exclamation which had broken 
 from Lushin in the Neskutchny Park, the sudden 
 changes in her treatment of me— and lost myself 
 in conjectures. " Who is he? " Those three words 
 seemed to stand in front of my eyes, outlined in 
 the darkness; a low-lying, ominous cloud seemed 
 to be hanging over me— and I felt its pressure — 
 and waited every moment for it to burst. I had 
 grown used to many things of late; I had seen 
 many things at the Zasyekins'; their disorderU- 
 ness, tallow candle-ends, broken knives and forks, 
 gloomy Vonifaty, the shabby maids, the man- 
 ners of the old Princess herself,— all that strange 
 life no longer surprised me. . . . But to that 
 which I now dimly felt in Zinaida I could not get 
 used . . . . " An adventuress,"— my mother had 
 one day said concerning her. An adventuress— 
 she, my idol, my divinity! That appellation 
 seared me ; I tried to escape from it by burrowing 
 into my pillow; I raged— and at the same time, 
 to what would not I have agreed, what would not 
 I have given, if only I might be that happy mor- 
 tal by the fountain ! . . . 
 
 My blood grew hot and seethed within me. 
 " A garden .... a fountain," ... I thought. 
 ..." I will go into the garden." I dressed my- 
 self quickly and slipped out of the house. The 
 
 82
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 night was dark, the trees were barely whispering ; 
 a quiet chill was descending from the sky, an 
 odour of fennel was wafted from the vegetable- 
 garden. I made the round of all the alleys; the 
 light sound of my footsteps both disconcerted me 
 and gave me courage; I halted, waiting and lis- 
 tening to hear how my heart was beating quickly 
 and violently. At last I approached the fence and 
 leaned against a slender post. All at once— or 
 was it only my imagination?— a woman's figure 
 flitted past a few paces distant from me. ... I 
 strained my eyes intently on the darkness ; I held 
 my breath. What was this? Was it footsteps 
 that I heard or was it the thumping of my heart 
 again?—" Who is here? "—I stammered in barely 
 audible tones. What was that again? A sup- 
 pressed laugh ? .... or a rustling in the leaves ? 
 .... or a sigh close to my very ear ? I was terri- 
 fied. ..." Who is here? "—I repeated, in a still 
 lower voice. 
 
 The breeze began to flutter for a moment; a 
 fiery band flashed across the sky; a star shot down. 
 — " Is it Zinaida? " — I tried to ask, but the sound 
 died on my lips. And suddenly everything be- 
 came profoundly silent all around, as often hap- 
 pens in the middle of the night. . . . Even the 
 katydids ceased to shrill in the trees; only a win- 
 dow rattled somewhere. I stood and stood, then 
 returned to my chamber, to my cold bed. I felt 
 a strange agitation — exactly as though I had 
 
 83
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 gone to a tryst, and had remained alone, and had 
 passed by some one else's happiness. 
 
 XVII 
 
 The next day I caught only a glimpse of Zi- 
 naida; she drove away somewhere with the old 
 Princess in a hired carriage. On the other hand, 
 I saw Liishin — who, however, barely deigned to 
 bestow a greeting on me— and Malevsky. The 
 young Count grinned and entered into conversa- 
 tion with me in friendly wise. Among all the 
 visitors to the wing he alone had managed to ef- 
 fect an entrance to our house, and my mother had 
 taken a fancy to him. My father did not favour 
 him and treated him politely to the point of insult. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur le page" — began Malevsky, 
 — "I am very glad to meet you. What is your 
 beauteous queen doing? " 
 
 His fresh, handsome face was so repulsive to 
 me at that moment, and he looked at me with such 
 a scornfully-playful stare, that I made him no 
 answer whatsoever. 
 
 " Are you still in a bad humour? " — he went on. 
 — " There is no occasion for it. It was not I, you 
 know, who called you a page; and pages are 
 chiefly with queens. But permit me to observe to 
 you that you are fulfilling your duties badly." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Pages ought to be inseparable from their sov- 
 
 84
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ereigns; pages ought to know everything that 
 they do; they ought even to watch over them," — 
 he added, lowering his voice, — " day and night." 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " 
 
 " What do I mean? I think I have expressed 
 myself plainly. Day— and night. It does not 
 matter so much about the day; by day it is 
 light and there are people about; but by night 
 — that 's exactly the time to expect a catastrophe. 
 I advise you not to sleep o' nights and to watch, 
 watch with all your might. Remember — in a gar- 
 den, by night, near the fountain — that 's where 
 you must keep guard. You will thank me for 
 this." 
 
 Malevsky laughed and turned his back on me. 
 He did not, in all probability, attribute any 
 special importance to what he had said to me ; he 
 bore the reputation of being a capital hand at 
 mystification, and was renowned for his cleverness 
 in fooling people at the masquerades, in which 
 that almost unconscious disposition to lie, where- 
 with his whole being was permeated, greatly 
 aided him. . . . He had merely wished to tease 
 me; but every word of his trickled like poison 
 through all my veins.— The blood flew to my 
 head. 
 
 "Ah! so that's it!"— I said to myself:— 
 "good! So it was not for nothing that I felt 
 drawn to the garden! That shall not be! " I ex- 
 claimed, smiting myself on the breast with my 
 
 85
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 fist; although I really did not know what it was 
 that I was determined not to permit.—" Whether 
 Malevsky himself comes into the garden,"— I 
 thought (perhaps he had blurted out a secret; he 
 was insolent enough for that), — "or some one 
 else,"— (the fence of our vegetable-garden was 
 very low and it cost no effort to climb over it) — 
 " at any rate, it will be all the worse for the person 
 whom I catch ! I would not advise any one to en- 
 counter me! I '11 show the whole world and her, 
 the traitress," — (I actually called her a traitress) 
 — " that I know how to avenge myself! " 
 
 I returned to my own room, took out of my 
 writing-table a recently purchased English knife, 
 felt of the sharp blade, and, knitting my brows, 
 thrust it into my pocket with a cold and concen- 
 trated decision, exactly as though it was nothing 
 remarkable for me to do such deeds, and this was 
 not the first occasion. My heart swelled angrily 
 within me and grew stony ; I did not unbend my 
 brows until nightfall and did not relax my lips, 
 and kept striding back and forth, clutching the 
 knife which had grown warm in my pocket, and 
 preparing myself in advance for something ter- 
 rible. These new, unprecedented emotions so en- 
 grossed and even cheered me, that I thought very 
 little about Zinaida herself. There kept con- 
 stantly flitting through my head Aleko, the 
 young gipsy: ^ — "Where art thou going, hand- 
 
 iJn Pushkin's poem, "The Gipsies."— Teanslator. 
 
 86
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 some youth?— Lie down . . . ." and then: 
 " Thou 'rt all with blood bespattered! .... Oh, 
 what is 't that thou hast done? . . . Nothing!" 
 With what a harsh smile I repeated that: that 
 "Nothing!" 
 
 My father was not at home; but my mother, 
 who for some time past had been in a state of al- 
 most constant, dull irritation, noticed my baleful 
 aspect at supper, and said to me: — "What art 
 thou sulking at, like a mouse at groats?"— I 
 merely smiled patronisingly at her by way of re- 
 ply and thought to myself: " If they only knew! " 
 —The clock struck eleven; I went to my own 
 room but did not undress ; I was waiting for mid- 
 night; at last it struck.—" 'T is time! "—I hissed 
 between my teeth, and buttoning my coat to the 
 throat and even turning up my sleeves I betook 
 myself to the garden. 
 
 I had selected a place beforehand where I 
 meant to stand on guard. At the end of the gar- 
 den, at the spot where the fence, which separated 
 our property from the Zasyekins', abutted on the 
 party-wall, grew a solitary spruce-tree. Stand- 
 ing beneath its low, thick branches, I could see 
 well, as far as the nocturnal gloom permitted, all 
 that went on around ; there also meandered a path 
 which always seemed to me mysterious ; like a ser- 
 pent it wound under the fence, which at that 
 point bore traces of clambering feet, and led to 
 an arbour of dense acacias. I reached the spruce- 
 
 87
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 tree, leaned against its trunk and began my 
 watch. 
 
 The night was as tranquil as the preceding one 
 had been; but there were fewer storm-clouds in 
 the sky, and the outlines of the bushes, even of the 
 tall flowers, were more plainly discernible. The 
 first moments of waiting were wearisome, almost 
 terrible. I had made up my mind to everything ; 
 I was merely considering how I ought to act. 
 Ought I to thunder out: "Who goes there? 
 Halt! Confess— or die!" — or simply smite. . . 
 Every sound, every noise and rustling seemed to 
 me significant, unusual .... I made ready .... 
 
 I bent forward But half an hour, an hour, 
 
 elapsed ; my blood quieted down and turned cold ; 
 the consciousness that I was doing all this in vain, 
 that I was even somewhat ridiculous, that Malev- 
 sky had been making fun of me, began to steal 
 into my soul. I abandoned my ambush and made 
 the round of the entire garden. As though ex- 
 pressly, not the slightest sound was to be heard 
 anywhere; everything was at rest; even our dog 
 was asleep, curled up in a ball at the gate. I 
 climbed up on the ruin of the hothouse, beheld 
 before me the distant plain, recalled my meeting 
 with Zinaida, and became immersed in medita- 
 tion 
 
 I started .... I thought I heard the creak of 
 an opening door, then the light crackling of a 
 broken twig. In two bounds I had descended 
 
 88
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 from the ruin— and stood petrified on the spot. 
 Swift, light but cautious footsteps were plainly- 
 audible in the garden. They were coming toward 
 me. "Here he is. . . . Here he is, at last!" — 
 darted through my heart. I convulsively jerked 
 the knife out of my pocket, convulsively opened 
 it — red sparks whirled before my eyes, the hair 
 stood up on my head with fright and wrath. . . . 
 The steps were coming straight toward me— I 
 bent over, and went to meet them. ... A man 
 made his appearance. . . . My God ! It was my 
 father ! 
 
 I recognised him instantly, although he was all 
 enveloped in a dark cloak,— and had pulled his 
 hat down over his face. He went past me on tip- 
 toe. He did not notice me although nothing con- 
 cealed me; but I had so contracted myself and 
 shrunk together that I think I must have been on 
 a level with the ground. The jealous Othello, 
 prepared to murder, had suddenly been converted 
 into the school-boy. ... I was so frightened by 
 the unexpected apparition of my father that I did 
 not even take note, at first, in what direction he 
 was going and where he had disappeared. I 
 merely straightened up at the moment and 
 thought: " Why is my father walking in the gar- 
 den by night? " — when everything around had re- 
 lapsed into silence. In my alarm I had dropped 
 my knife in the grass, but I did not even try to 
 find it; I felt very much ashamed. I became so- 
 
 89
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 bered on the instant. But as I wended my way 
 home, I stepped up to my little bench under the 
 elder-bush and cast a glance at the little window 
 of Zinaida's chamber. The small, somewhat 
 curved panes of the little window gleamed dully 
 blue in the faint light which fell from the night 
 sky. Suddenly their colour began to undergo a 
 change. . . . Behind them— I saw it, saw it 
 clearly,— a whitish shade was lowered, descended 
 to the sill,— and there remained motionless. 
 
 " What is the meaning of that? "—I said aloud, 
 almost involuntarily, when I again found myself 
 in my own room. — " Was it a dream, an accident, 
 or .... " The surmises which suddenly came 
 into my head were so new and strange that I 
 dared not even yield to them. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 I ROSE in the morning with a headache. My agi- 
 tation of the night before had vanished. It had 
 been replaced by an oppressive perplexity and a 
 certain, hitherto unknown sadness, — exactly as 
 though something had died in me. 
 
 " What makes you look like a rabbit which has 
 had half of its brain removed? "—said Lushin, 
 who happened to meet me. At breakfast I kept 
 casting covert glances now at my father, now at 
 my mother; he was calm, as usual; she, as usual, 
 was secretly irritated. I waited to see whether 
 
 90
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 my father would address me in a friendly way, as 
 he sometimes did. . . . But he did not even ca- 
 ress me with his cold, everyday affection.— 
 "Shall I tell Zinaida all? "-I thought. . . . 
 " For it makes no difference now — everything is 
 over between us." I went to her, but I not only 
 did not tell her anything,— I did not even get a 
 chance to talk to her as I would have liked. The 
 old Princess's son, a cadet aged twelve, had come 
 from Petersburg to spend his vacation with her; 
 Zinaida immediately confided her brother to me. 
 — " Here, my dear Volodya,"— said she (she 
 called me so for the first time) , " is a comrade for 
 you. His name is Volodya also. Pray, like him ; 
 he 's a wild little fellow still, but he has a good 
 heart. Show him Neskiitchny Park, walk with 
 him, take him under your protection. You will 
 do that, will you not? You, too, are such a good 
 fellow!"— She laid both hands affectionately^ on 
 my shoulder— and I was reduced to utter confu- 
 sion. The arrival of that boy turned me into a 
 boy. I stared in silence at the cadet, who riveted 
 his eyes in corresponding silence on me. Zinaida 
 burst out laughing and pushed us toward each 
 other.— " Come, embrace, children!" — We em- 
 braced. — " I '11 take you into the garden if you 
 wish,— shall I? " — I asked the cadet. 
 
 " Certainly, sir," — he replied, in a hoarse, 
 genuine cadet voice. Again Zinaida indulged in 
 a burst of laughter. ... I managed to notice 
 
 91
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 that never before had she had such charming col- 
 our in her face. The cadet and I went off to- 
 gether. In our garden stood an old swing. I 
 seated him on the thin little board and began to 
 swing him. He sat motionless in his new little 
 uniform of thick cloth with broad gold galloon, 
 and clung tightly to the ropes. 
 
 " You had better unhook your collar,"— I said 
 to him. 
 
 " Never mind, sir,* we are used to it, sir," — he 
 said, and cleared his throat. 
 
 He resembled his sister; his eyes were particu- 
 larly suggestive of her. It was pleasant to me to 
 be of service to him; and, at the same time, that 
 aching pain kept quietly gnawing at my heart. 
 "Now I really am a child," I thought; "but 
 last night . ..." I remembered where I had 
 dropped my knife and found it. The cadet asked 
 me to lend it to him, plucked a thick stalk of 
 lovage, cut a whistle from it, and began to pipe. 
 Othello piped also. 
 
 But in the evening, on the other hand, how he 
 did weep, that same Othello, over Zinaida's hands 
 when, having sought him out in a corner of the 
 garden, she asked him what made him so melan- 
 choly. My tears streamed with such violence that 
 she was frightened. — " What is the matter with 
 you? What is the matter with you, Volodya?" 
 
 ^The respectful "s," which is an abbreviation of "sir" or 
 " madam."— Translator. 
 
 92
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 —she kept repeating, and seeing that I made her 
 no reply, she took it into her head to kiss my wet 
 cheek. But I turned away from her and whis- 
 pered through my sobs:— "I know everything: 
 why have you trifled with me? ... . Why did 
 you want my love? " 
 
 " I am to blame toward you, Volodya " . . . . 
 said Zinaida.— " Akh, I am very much to blame " 
 
 she said, and clenched her hands.— 
 
 " How much evil, dark, sinful, there is in me ! . . . 
 But I am not trifling with you now, I love you — 
 you do not suspect why and how. . . . But what 
 is it you know? " 
 
 What could I say to her? She stood before me 
 and gazed at me— and I belonged to her wholly, 
 from head to foot, as soon as she looked at me. 
 ... A quarter of an hour later I was running a 
 race with the cadet and Zinaida; I was not weep- 
 ing ; I was laughing, although my swollen eyelids 
 dropped tears from laughing; on my neck, in 
 place of a tie, was bound a ribbon of Zinaida's, 
 and I shouted with joy when I succeeded in seiz- 
 ing her round the waist. She did with me whatso- 
 ever she would. 
 
 XIX 
 
 I SHOULD be hard put to it, if I were made to nar- 
 rate in detail all that went on within me in the 
 course of the week which followed my unsuccess- 
 
 93
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ful nocturnal expedition. It was a strange, 
 feverish time, a sort of chaos in which the most 
 opposite emotions, thoughts, suspicions, hopes, 
 joys, and suiferings revolved in a whirlwind; I 
 was afraid to look into myself, if a sixteen- 
 year-old can look into himself ; I was afraid to ac- 
 count to myself for anything whatsoever; I sim- 
 ply made haste to live through the day until the 
 evening ; on the other hand, at night I slept . . . 
 childish giddiness helped me. I did not want to 
 know whether I was beloved, and would not ad- 
 mit to myself that I was not beloved ; I shunned 
 my father — but could not shun Zinaida. ... I 
 burned as with fire in her presence, .... but 
 what was the use of my knowing what sort of fire 
 it was wherewith I burned and melted — seeing 
 that it was sweet to me to burn and melt ! I sur- 
 rendered myself entirely to my impressions, and 
 dealt artfully with myself, turned away from my 
 memories and shut my eyes to that of which I had 
 a presentiment in the future. . . . This anguish 
 probably would not have continued long ... a 
 thunder-clap put an instantaneous end to every- 
 thing and hurled me into a new course. 
 • On returning home one day to dinner from a 
 rather long walk, I learned with surprise that I 
 was to dine alone ; that my father had gone away, 
 while my mother was ill, did not wish to dine 
 and had shut herself up in her bedroom. From 
 the footmen's faces I divined that something un- 
 
 94
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 usual had taken place. ... I dared not interro- 
 gate them, but I had a friend, the young butler 
 Philipp, who was passionately fond of poetry and 
 an artist on the guitar; I applied to him. From 
 him I learned that a frightful scene had taken 
 place between my father and mother (for in the 
 maids' room everything was audible, to the last 
 word; a great deal had been said in French, but 
 the maid Masha had lived for five years with a 
 dressmaker from Paris and understood it all) ; 
 that my mother had accused my father of infi- 
 delity, of being intimate with the young lady 
 our neighbour ; that my father had first defended 
 himself, then had flared up and in his turn had 
 made some harsh remark " seemingly about her 
 age," which had set my mother to crying; that my 
 mother had also referred to a note of hand, which 
 appeared to have been given to the old Princess, 
 and expressed herself very vilely about her, and 
 about the young lady as well; and that then my 
 father had threatened her.—" And the whole 
 trouble arose,"— pursued Philipp, " out of an 
 anonymous letter ; but who wrote it no one knows ; 
 otherwise there was no reason why this affair 
 should have come out." 
 
 *' But has there been anything? "—I enun- 
 ciated with difficulty, while my hands and feet 
 turned cold, and something began to quiver in the 
 very depths of my breast. 
 
 Philipp winke'^l significantly.—" There has. 
 
 95
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 You can't conceal such doings, cautious as your 
 papa has been in this case; — still, what possessed 
 him, for example, to hire a carriage, or to ... . 
 for you can't get along without people there 
 also." 
 
 I dismissed Philipp, and flung myself down on 
 my bed. I did not sob, I did not give myself up 
 to despair ; I did not ask myself when and how all 
 this had taken place; I was not surprised that 
 I had not guessed it sooner, long before — I did 
 not even murmur against my father. . . . That 
 which I had learned was beyond my strength ; this 
 sudden discovery had crushed me. . . . All was 
 over. All my flowers had been plucked up at one 
 blow and lay strewn around me, scattered and 
 trampled under foot. 
 
 XX 
 
 On the following day my mother announced that 
 she was going to remove to town. My father went 
 into her bedroom in the morning and sat there 
 a long time alone with her. No one heard what 
 he said to her, but my mother did not weep any 
 more; she calmed down and asked for something 
 to eat, but did not show herself and did not alter 
 her intention. I remember that I wandered about 
 all day long, but did not go into the garden and 
 did not glance even once at the wing — and in the 
 
 96
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 evening I was the witness of an amazing occur- 
 rence; my father took Comit Malevsky by the 
 arm and led him out of the hall into the anteroom 
 and, in the presence of a lackey, said coldly to 
 him: " Several days ago Your Radiance was 
 shown the door in a certain house. I shall not 
 enter into explanations with you now, but I have 
 the honour to inform you that if you come to my 
 house again I shall fling you through the window. 
 I don't like your handwriting." The Count 
 bowed, set his teeth, shrank together, and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Preparations began for removing to town, on 
 the Arbat,^ where our house was situated. Prob- 
 ably my father himself no longer cared to re- 
 main in the villa; but it was evident that he had 
 succeeded in persuading my mother not to make 
 a row. Everything was done quietly, without 
 haste; my mother even sent her compliments to 
 the old Princess and expressed her regret that, 
 owing to ill-health, she would be unable to see 
 her before her departure. I prowled about like 
 a crazy person, and desired but one thing, — that 
 everything might come to an end as speedily as 
 possible. One thought never quitted my head: 
 how could she, a young girl, — well, and a prin- 
 cess into the bargain,— bring herself to such a 
 step, knowing that my father was not a free man 
 while she had the possibility of marrying Bye- 
 
 ^ A square in Moscow.— Translator. 
 
 97
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 lovzoroif at least, for example? What had she 
 hoped for? How was it that she had not been 
 afraid to ruin her whole future?—" Yes,"— I 
 thought,—" that 's what love is, — that is passion, 
 —that is devotion," . . . and I recalled Liishin's 
 words to me: " Self-sacrifice is sweet— for some 
 people." Once I happened to catch sight of a 
 white spot in one of the windows of the wing. . . . 
 "Can that be Zinaida's face? "—I thought; . . . 
 and it really was her face. I could not hold out. 
 I could not part from her without bidding her a 
 last farewell. I seized a convenient moment and 
 betook myself to the wing. 
 
 In the drawing-room the old Princess received 
 me with her customary, slovenly-careless greet- 
 ing. 
 
 " What has made your folks uneasy so early, 
 my dear fellow?"— she said, stuffing snuff up 
 both her nostrils. I looked at her, and a weight 
 was removed from my heart. The word " note 
 of hand " uttered by Philipp tormented me. She 
 suspected nothing .... so it seemed to me then, 
 at least. Zinaida made her appearance from the 
 adjoining room in a black gown, pale, with hair 
 out of curl ; she silently took me by the hand and 
 led me away to her room. 
 
 " I heard your voice,"— she began, — " and 
 came out at once. And did you find it so easy to 
 desert us, naughty boy? " 
 
 " I have come to take leave of you, Princess," 
 
 98
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 — I replied,—" probably forever. You may have 
 heard we are going away." 
 
 Zinaida gazed intently at me. 
 
 " Yes, I have heard. Thank you for coming. 
 I was beginning to think that I should not see 
 you.— Think kindly of me. I have sometimes 
 tormented you ; but nevertheless I am not the sort 
 of person you think I am." 
 
 She turned away and leaned against the win- 
 dow-casing. 
 
 " Really, I am not that sort of person. I know 
 that you have a bad opinion of me." 
 
 "I?" 
 
 " Yes, you .... you." 
 
 "I?"— I repeated sorrowfully, and my heart 
 began to quiver as of old, beneath the influence of 
 the irresistible, inexpressible witchery. — " I? Be- 
 lieve me, Zinaida Alexandrovna, whatever you 
 may have done, however you may have tormented 
 me, I shall love and adore you until the end of my 
 Hfe." 
 
 She turned swiftly toward me and opening her 
 arms widely, she clasped my head, and kissed me 
 heartily and warmly. God knows whom that 
 long, farewell kiss was seeking, but I eagerly 
 tasted its sweetness. I knew that it would nev^er 
 more be repeated.—" Farewell, farewell! " I kept 
 saying. . . . 
 
 She wrenched herself away and left the room. 
 And I withdrew also. I am unable to describe 
 
 99
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 the feeling with which I retired. I should not 
 wish ever to have it repeated; but I should 
 consider myself unhappy if I had never experi- 
 enced it. 
 
 We removed to town. I did not speedily de- 
 tach myself from the past, I did not speedily take 
 up my work. My wound healed slowly; but I 
 really had no evil feeling toward my father. On 
 the contrary, he seemed to have gained in stature 
 in my eyes .... let the psychologists explain 
 this contradiction as best they may. One day I 
 was walking along the boulevard when, to my in- 
 describable joy, I encountered Liishin. I liked 
 him for his straightforward, sincere character; 
 and, moreover, he was dear to me in virtue of the 
 memories which he awakened in me. I rushed at 
 him. 
 
 "Aha!"— he said, with a scowl.—" Is it you, 
 young man? Come, let me have a look at you. 
 You are still all sallow, and yet there is not the 
 olden trash in your eyes. You look like a man, 
 not like a lap-dog. That 's good. Well, and how 
 are you? Are you working? " 
 
 I heaved a sigh. I did not wish to lie, and I 
 was ashamed to tell the truth. 
 
 " Well, never mind,"— went on Liishin,— 
 " don't be afraid. The principal thing is to live 
 in normal fashion and not to yield to impulses. 
 Otherwise, where 's the good ? No matter whither 
 the wave bears one — 't is bad; let a man stand on 
 
 100
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 a stone if need be, but on his own feet. Here I 
 am croaking .... but ByelovzoroiF— have you 
 heard about him? " 
 
 " What about him? No." 
 
 " He has disappeared without leaving a trace; 
 they say he has gone to the Caucasus. A lesson 
 to you, young man. And the whole thing arises 
 from not knowing how to say good-bye,— to 
 break bonds in time. You, now, seem to have 
 jumped out successfully. Look out, don't fall 
 in again. Farewell." 
 
 " I shall not fall in,"— I thought. . . . "I 
 shall see her no more." But I was fated to see 
 Zinaida once more. 
 
 XXI 
 
 My father was in the habit of riding on horseback 
 every day; he had a splendid red-roan English 
 horse, with a long, slender neck and long legs, 
 indefatigable and vicious. Its name was Elec- 
 tric. No one could ride it except my father. 
 One day he came to me in a kindly frame of mind, 
 which had not happened with him for a long time : 
 he was preparing to ride, and had donned his 
 spurs. I began to entreat him to take me with 
 
 him. 
 
 " Let us, rather, play at leap-frog,"— replied 
 
 my father,—" for thou wilt not be able to keep up 
 
 with me on thy cob." 
 
 101
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 5> 
 
 *' Yes, I shall; I will put on spurs also.' 
 
 " Well, come along." 
 
 We set out. I had a shaggy, black little horse, 
 strong on its feet and fairly spirited; it had to 
 gallop with all its might, it is true, when Electric 
 was going at a full trot; but nevertheless I did 
 not fall behind. I have never seen such a horse- 
 man as my father. His seat was so fine and so 
 carelessly-adroit that the horse under him seemed 
 to be conscious of it and to take pride in it. We 
 rode the whole length of all the boulevards, 
 reached the Maidens' Field,^ leaped over several 
 enclosures (at first I was afraid to leap, but my 
 father despised timid people, and I ceased to be 
 afraid), crossed the Moscow river twice; — and 
 I was beginning to think that we were on our way 
 homeward, the more so as my father remarked 
 that my horse was tired, when suddenly he turned 
 away from me in the direction of the Crimean 
 Ford, and galloped along the shore. — I dashed 
 after him. When he came on a level with a lofty 
 pile of old beams which lay heaped together, he 
 sprang nimbly from Electric, ordered me to 
 alight and, handing me the bridle of his horse, 
 told me to wait for him on that spot, near the 
 beams ; then he turned into a narrow alley and dis- 
 
 ^A great plain situated on the outskirts of the town. So called 
 because (says tradition) it was here that annually were assembled the 
 young girls who were sent, in addition to the money tribute, to the 
 Khan, during the Tatar period, in the thirteenth and fourteenth cen- 
 turies. —Translator. 
 
 102
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 appeared. I began to pace back and forth along 
 the shore, leading the horses after me and scold- 
 ing Electric, who as he walked kept incessantly 
 twitching his head, shaking himself, snorting and 
 neighing; when I stood still, he alternately 
 pawed the earth with his hoof, and squealed and 
 bit my cob on the neck; in a word, behaved like 
 a spoiled darling, pur sang. My father did not 
 return. A disagreeable humidity was wafted 
 from the river; a fine rain set in and mottled the 
 stupid, grey beams, around which I was hovering 
 and of which I was so heartily tired, with tiny, 
 dark spots. Anxiety took possession of me, but 
 still my father did not come. A Finnish sentry, 
 also all grey, with a huge, old-fashioned shako, in 
 the form of a pot, on his head, and armed with a 
 halberd (why should there be a sentry, I thought, 
 on the shores of the Moscow river?), approached 
 me, and turning his elderly, wrinkled face to me, 
 he said: 
 
 " What are you doing here with those horses, 
 my little gentleman? Hand them over to me; 
 I '11 hold them." 
 
 I did not answer him; he asked me for some 
 tobacco. In order to rid myself of him (more- 
 over, I was tortured by impatience), I advanced 
 a few paces in the direction in which my father 
 had retreated; then I walked through the alley 
 to the very end, turned a corner, and came to a 
 standstill. On the street, forty paces distant from 
 
 103
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 me, in front of the open window of a small 
 wooden house, with his back to me, stood my 
 father; he was leaning his breast on the window- 
 sill, while in the house, half concealed by the cur- 
 tain, sat a woman in a dark gown talking with my 
 father: the woman was Zinaida. 
 
 I stood rooted to the spot in amazement. I 
 must confess that I had in nowise expected this. 
 My first impulse was to flee. " My father will 
 glance round," I thought, — " and then I am lost." 
 .... But a strange feeling — a feeling more pow- 
 erful than curiosity, more powerful even than 
 jealousy, more powerful than fear, — stopped me. 
 I began to stare, I tried to hear. My father ap- 
 peared to be insisting upon something. Zinaida 
 would not consent. I seem to see her face now — 
 sad, serious, beautiful, and with an indescribable 
 imprint of adoration, grief, love, and a sort of de- 
 spair. She uttered monosyllabic words, did not 
 raise her eyes, and only smiled — submissively and 
 obstinately. From that smile alone I recognised 
 my former Zinaida. My father shrugged his 
 shoulders, and set his hat straight on his head — 
 which was always a sign of impatience with him. 
 . . . Then the words became audible : " Vous devez 
 vous separer de cette" .... Zinaida drew her- 
 self up and stretched out her hand Sud- 
 denly, before my very eyes, an incredible thing 
 came to pass: — all at once, my father raised the 
 riding-whip, with which he had been lashing the 
 
 104
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 dust from his coat-tails, — and the sound of a 
 sharp blow on that arm, which was bare to the 
 elbow, rang out. I could hardly keep from 
 shrieking, but Zinaida started, gazed in silence at 
 my father, and slowly raising her arm to her lips, 
 kissed the mark which glowed scarlet upon it. 
 
 My father hurled his riding-whip from him, 
 and running hastily up the steps of the porch, 
 burst into the house. . . . Zinaida turned round, 
 and stretching out her arms, and throwing back 
 her head, she also quitted the window. 
 
 My heart swooning with terror, and with a sort 
 of alarmed perplexity, I darted backward; and 
 dashing through the alley, and almost letting go 
 of Electric, I returned to the bank of the river. , . 
 I could understand nothing. I knew that my cold 
 and self-contained father was sometimes seized 
 by fits of wild fury; and yet I could not in the 
 least comprehend what I had seen. . . . But I 
 inmiediately felt that no matter how long I might 
 live, it would be impossible for me ever to forget 
 that movement, Zinaida's glance and smile; that 
 her image, that new image which had suddenly 
 been presented to me, had forever imprinted itself 
 on my memory. I stared stupidly at the river and 
 did not notice that my tears were flowing. " She 
 is being beaten,"— I thought. ..." She is being 
 beaten .... beaten ....'* 
 
 " Come, what ails thee?— Give me my horse! " 
 —rang out my father's voice behind me. 
 
 105
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 I mechanically gave him the bridle. He 
 sprang upon Electric .... the half-frozen 
 horse reared on his hind legs and leaped forward 
 half a fathom .... but my father speedily got 
 him under control; he dug his spurs into his 
 flanks and beat him on the neck with his fist. . . . 
 " Ekh, I have no whip,"— he muttered. 
 
 I remembered the recent swish through the air 
 and the blow of that same whip, and shuddered. 
 
 " What hast thou done with it? "—I asked my 
 father, after waiting a little. 
 
 My father did not answer me and galloped on. 
 I dashed after him. I was determined to get a 
 look at his face. 
 
 "Didst thou get bored in my absence?"— he 
 said through his teeth. 
 
 " A little. But where didst thou drop thy 
 whip? " — I asked him again. 
 
 My father shot a swift glance at me. — " I did 
 not drop it,"— he said,—" I threw it away."— He 
 reflected for a space and dropped his head .... 
 and then, for the first and probably for the last 
 time, I saw how much tenderness and compunc- 
 tion his stern features were capable of express- 
 ing. 
 
 He set oif again at a gallop, and this time I 
 could not keep up with him; I reached home a 
 quarter of an hour after him. 
 
 " That 's what love is,"— I said to myself 
 again, as I sat at night before my writing-table, 
 
 106
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 on which copy-books and text-books had already 
 begun to make their appearance,—" that is what 
 passion is ! . . . . How is it possible not to revolt, 
 how is it possible to endure a blow from any one 
 whomsoever .... even from the hand that is 
 most dear? But evidently it can be done if one 
 is in love. . . . And I .... I imagined . . . ." 
 
 The last month had aged me greatly, and my 
 love, with all its agitations and sufferings, seemed 
 to me like something very petty and childish and 
 wretched in comparison with that other unknown 
 something at which I could hardly even guess, 
 and which frightened me like a strange, beauti- 
 ful but menacing face that one strives, in vain, 
 to get a good look at in the semi-darkness. . . . 
 
 That night I had a strange and dreadful 
 dream. I thought I was entering a low, dark 
 room My father was standing there, rid- 
 ing-whip in hand, and stamping his feet ; Zinaida 
 was crouching in one corner and had a red mark, 
 not on her arm, but on her forehead .... and 
 behind the two rose up Byelovzoroff, all bathed 
 in blood, with his pale lips open, and wrathfully 
 menacing my father. 
 
 Two months later I entered the university, and 
 six months afterward my father died (of an apo- 
 plectic stroke) in Petersburg, whither he had just 
 removed with my mother and myself. A few 
 days before his death my father had received a 
 letter from Moscow which had agitated him ex- 
 
 107
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 tremely. . . . He went to beg something of my 
 mother and, I was told, even wept, — he, my fa- 
 ther! On the very morning of the day on which 
 he had the stroke, he had begun a letter to me in 
 the French language: " My son," — he wrote to 
 me,—" fear the love of women, fear that happi- 
 ness, that poison . . . ." After his death my mo- 
 ther sent a very considerable sum of money to 
 Moscow. 
 
 XXII 
 
 Four years passed. I had but just left the uni- 
 versity, and did not yet quite know what to do with 
 myself, at what door to knock; in the meanwhile, 
 I was lounging about without occupation. One 
 fine evening I encountered Maidanoff in the 
 theatre. He had contrived to marry and enter the 
 government service ; but I found him unchanged. 
 He went into unnecessary raptures, just as of 
 old, and became low-spirited as suddenly as ever. 
 
 " You know,"— he said to me, — " by the way, 
 that Madame Dolsky is here." 
 
 " What Madame Dolsky? " 
 
 " Is it possible that you have forgotten? The 
 former Princess Zasyekin, with whom we were 
 all in love, you included. At the villa, near Nes- 
 kiitchny Park, you remember? " 
 
 " Did she marry Dolsky? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 108
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "And is she here in the theatre?" 
 
 " No, in Petersburg ; she arrived here a few 
 days ago; she is preparing to go abroad. 
 
 "What sort of a man is her husband?"— I 
 asked. 
 
 " A very fine young fellow and wealthy. He 's 
 my comrade in the service, a Moscow man. You 
 understand — after that scandal .... you must 
 be well acquainted with all that . . . ." (Mai- 
 danoiF smiled significantly) , " it was not easy for 
 her to find a husband; there were consequences 
 .... but with her brains everything is possible. 
 Go to her; she will be delighted to see you. She 
 is handsomer than ever." 
 
 MaidanofF gave me Zinaida's address. She 
 was stopping in the Hotel Demuth. Old memo- 
 ries began to stir in me. ... I promised mj^self 
 that I would call upon my former " passion " the 
 next day. But certain affairs turned up : a week 
 elapsed, and when, at last, I betook myself to the 
 Hotel Demuth and inquired for Madame Dolsky 
 I learned that she had died four days previously, 
 almost suddenly, in childbirth. 
 
 Something seemed to deal me a blow in the 
 heart. The thought that I might have seen her 
 but had not, and that I should never see her,— that 
 bitter thought seized upon me with all the force 
 of irresistible reproach. "Dead!" I repeated, 
 staring dully at the door-porter, then quietly 
 made my way to the street and walked away, with- 
 
 109
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 out knowing whither. The whole past surged up 
 at one blow and stood before me. And now this 
 was the way it had ended, this was the goal of that 
 young, fiery, brilliant life? I thought that— I 
 pictured to myself those dear features, those eyes, 
 those curls in the narrow box, in the damp, under- 
 ground gloom, — right there, not far from me, 
 who was still alive, and, perchance, only a few 
 paces from my father. ... I thought all that, 
 I strained my imagination, and yet — 
 
 From a mouth indifferent I heard the news of death, 
 And with indifference did I receive it — 
 
 resounded through my soul. O youth, youth! 
 Thou carest for nothing: thou possessest, as it 
 were, all the treasures of the universe; even sor- 
 row comforts thee, even melancholy becomes thee ; 
 thou are self-confident and audacious; thou say- 
 est: "I alone live — behold!" — But the days 
 speed on and vanish without a trace and without 
 reckoning, and everything vanishes in thee, like 
 wax in the sun, like snow. . . . And perchance 
 the whole secret of thy charm consists not in the 
 power to do everything, but in the possibility of 
 thinking that thou wilt do everything— consists 
 precisely in the fact that thou scatterest to the 
 winds thy powers which thou hast not understood 
 how to employ in any other way, — in the fact that 
 each one of us seriously regards himself as a 
 prodigal, seriously assumes that he has a right to 
 
 110
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 say: " Oh, what could I not have done, had I not 
 wasted my time ! " 
 
 And I myself . . . what did I hope for, what 
 did I expect, what rich future did I foresee, when 
 I barely accompanied with a single sigh, with 
 a single mournful emotion, the spectre of my 
 first love which had arisen for a brief moment? 
 
 And what has come to pass of all for which I 
 hoped? Even now, when the shades of evening 
 are beginning to close in upon my life, what is 
 there that has remained for me fresher, more 
 precious than the memory of that morning spring 
 thunder-storm which sped so swiftly past? 
 
 But I calumniate myself without cause. Even 
 then, at that frivolous, youthful epoch, I did not 
 remain deaf to the sorrowful voice which re- 
 sponded within me to the triumphant sound 
 which was wafted to me from beyond the grave. 
 I remember that a few days after I learned of 
 Zinaida's death I was present, by my own irre- 
 sistible longing, at the death-bed of a poor old 
 woman who lived in the same house with us. 
 Covered with rags, with a sack under her head, 
 she died heavily and with difficulty. Her whole 
 life had been passed in a bitter struggle with daily 
 want; she had seen no joy, she had not tasted the 
 honey of happiness— it seemed as though she 
 could not have failed to rejoice at death, at her 
 release, her repose. But nevertheless, as long as 
 her decrepit body held out, as long as her breast 
 
 IJl
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 heaved under the icy hand which was laid upon it, 
 until her last strength deserted her, the old wo- 
 man kept crossing herself and whispering: — " O 
 Lord, forgive my sins," — and only with the last 
 spark of consciousness did there vanish from her 
 eyes the expression of fear and horror at her ap- 
 proaching end. And I remember that there, by 
 the bedside of that poor old woman, I felt terri- 
 fied for Zinaida, and felt like praying for her, for 
 my father— and for myself. 
 
 112
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 (1855)
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 SEVERAL years ago I was in Dresden. I 
 stopped in the hotel. As I was running 
 about the town from early morning until late at 
 night, I did not consider it necessary to make ac- 
 quaintance with my neighbours; at last, acciden- 
 tally, it came to my knowledge that there was a 
 sick Russian in the house. I went to him, and 
 found a man in the last stage of consumption. 
 Dresden was beginning to pall upon me ; I settled 
 down with my new acquaintance. It is wearisome 
 to sit with an invalid, but even boredom is agree- 
 able sometimes ; moreover, my invalid was not de- 
 jected, and liked to chat. We endeavoured, in 
 every way, to kill time: we played "fool" to- 
 gether, we jeered at the doctor. My compatriot 
 narrated to that very bald German divers fictions 
 about his own condition, which the doctor always 
 " had long foreseen " ; he mimicked him when he 
 was surprised at any unprecedented attack, flung 
 his medicine out of the window, and so forth. 
 
 Nevertheless I repeatedly remarked to my 
 friend that it would not be a bad idea to send for 
 a good physician before it was too late, that his 
 malady was not to be jested with, and so forth. 
 
 115
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 But Alexyei (my acquaintance's name was Alex- 
 yei Petrovitch S***) put me off every time with 
 jests about all doctors in general, and his own in 
 particular, and at last, one stormy autumn even- 
 ing, to my importunate entreaties, he replied with 
 such a dejected glance, he shook his head so sadly, 
 and smiled so strangely, that I felt a certain sur- 
 prise. That same night Alexyei grew worse, and 
 on the following day he died. Just before his 
 death his customary cheerfulness deserted him : he 
 tossed uneasily in the bed, sighed, gazed anx- 
 iously about .... grasped my hand, whispered 
 with an effort: " 'T is difficult to die, you know," 
 .... dropped his head on the pillow, and burst 
 into tears. I did not know what to say to him, 
 and sat silently beside his bed. But Alexyei 
 speedily conquered this last, belated compassion. 
 ..." Listen," he said to me: — " our doctor will 
 
 come to-day, and will find me dead I can 
 
 imagine his phiz " . . . . and the dying man 
 
 tried to mimic him He requested me to 
 
 send all his things to Russia, to his relatives, with 
 the exception of a small packet, which he pre- 
 sented to me as a souvenir. 
 
 This packet contained letters — the letters of a 
 young girl to Alexyei and his letters to her. 
 There were fifteen of them in all. Alexyei Pe- 
 trovitch S*** had known Marya Alexandrovna 
 B*** for a long time — from childhood, appar- 
 eniiy. Alexyei Petrovitch had a cousin, and Ma- 
 
 116
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 rya Alexandrovna had a sister. In earlier years 
 they had all lived together, then they had dis- 
 persed, and had not met again for a long time; 
 then they had accidentally all assembled again in 
 the country, in summer, and had fallen in love — 
 Alexyei's cousin with Marya Alexandrovna, and 
 Alexyei himself with the latter's sister. Summer 
 passed and autumn came; they parted. Alexyei 
 being a sensible man, speedily became convinced 
 that he was not in the least beloved, and parted 
 from his beauty very happily; his cousin corre- 
 sponded with Marya Alexandrovna for a couple 
 of years longer .... but even he divined, at last, 
 that he was deceiving both her and himself in the 
 most unconscionable manner, and he also fell 
 silent. 
 
 I should like to tell you a little about Marya 
 Alexandrovna, dear reader, but you will learn to 
 know her for yourself from her letters. Alexyei 
 wrote his first letter to her soon after her defini- 
 tive breach with his cousin. He was in Peters- 
 burg at the time, suddenly went abroad, fell ill in 
 Dresden and died. I have decided to publish his 
 correspondence with jNIarya Alexandrovna, and 
 I hope for some indulgence on the part of the 
 reader, because these are not love-letters — God 
 forbid! Love-letters are generally read by two 
 persons only (but, on the other hand, a thousand 
 times in succession), and are intolerable, if not 
 ridiculous, to a third person. 
 
 117
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 From Alexyei Petrovitch to Mary a 
 Aleoodndrovna 
 
 St, Petersburg, March 7, 1840. 
 My dear Marya Alexandrovna! 
 
 I have never yet written to you a single time, I 
 think, and here I am writing now. ... I have 
 chosen a strange time, have I not? This is what 
 has prompted me to it : Mon cousin Theodore has 
 been to see me to-day, and— how shall I say it? 
 .... and has informed me, in the strictest pri- 
 vacy (he never imparts anything in any other 
 way) , that he is in love with the daughter of some 
 gentleman here, and this time is bent on marrying 
 without fail, and that he has already taken the 
 first step — he has explained his intentions! As 
 a matter of course, I hastened to congratulate 
 him on an event so pleasant for him ; he has long 
 stood in need of an explanation .... but in- 
 wardly I was, I confess, somewhat amazed. Al- 
 though I knew that everything was over between 
 you, yet it seemed to me .... In a word, I was 
 amazed. I was preparing to go out visiting to- 
 day, but I have remained at home, and intend to 
 have a little chat with you. If you do not care to 
 listen to me, throw this letter into the fire imme- 
 diately. I declare to you that I wish to be frank, 
 
 118
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 although I feel that you have a perfect right to 
 take me for a decidedly-intrusive man. Observe, 
 however, that I would not have taken pen in hand 
 if I had not known that your sister is not with 
 you: Theodore told me that she will be away all 
 summer visiting your aunt, Madame B***. May 
 God grant her all good things! 
 
 So, then, this is the way it has all turned out. . . 
 But I shall not offer you my friendship, and so 
 forth; in general, I avoid solemn speeches, and 
 "intimate " eiFusions. In beginning to write this 
 letter, I have simply obeyed some momentary 
 impulse : if any other feeling is hiding within me, 
 let it remain hidden from sight for the present. 
 
 Neither shall I attempt to console you. In 
 consoling others, people generally desire to rid 
 themselves, as speedily as possible, of the un- 
 pleasant feeling of involuntary, self -conceited 
 
 compassion I understand sincere, warm 
 
 sympathy .... but such sympathy is not to be 
 got from every one. . . . Please be angry with 
 me. . . If you are angry, you will probably read 
 my epistle to the end. 
 
 But what right have I to write to you, to talk 
 about my friendship, my feelings, about consola- 
 tion? None whatever — positively, none what- 
 ever; and I am bound to admit that, and I rely 
 solely upon your kindness. 
 
 Do you know what the beginning of my letter 
 resembles? This : a certain Mr. N. N. entered the 
 
 119
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 drawing-room of a lady who was not in the least 
 expecting him,— who, perhaps, was expecting 
 another man. . . . He divined that he had come 
 at the wrong time, but there was nothing to be 
 done. . . . He sat down, and began to talk .... 
 God knows what about: poetry, the beauties of 
 nature, the advantages of a good education .... 
 in a word, he talked the most frightful nonsense. 
 . . . But in the meanwhile the first five minutes 
 had elapsed; he sat on; the lady resigned herself 
 to her fate, and lo! Mr. N. N. recovered himself, 
 sighed, and began to converse— to the best of his 
 ability. 
 
 But, despite all this idle chatter, I feel some- 
 what awkward, nevertheless. I seem to see be- 
 fore me your perplexed, even somewhat angry 
 face: I feel conscious that it is almost impos- 
 sible for you not to assume that I have some se- 
 cret intentions or other, and therefore, having 
 perpetrated a piece of folly, hke a Roman I wrap 
 myself in my toga and await in silence your 
 ultimate condemnation. . . . 
 
 But, in particular : Will you permit me to con- 
 tinue to write to you? 
 
 I remain sincerely and cordially your devoted 
 servant — 
 
 Alexyei S***. 
 
 120
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 II 
 
 From Mary a Alexdndrovna to Alexyei 
 Petrovitch 
 
 Village of ... . no, March 22, 1840. 
 
 Dear Sir! 
 Alexyei Petrovitch! 
 
 I have received your letter, and really, I do not 
 know what to say to you. I would even not have 
 answered you at all had it not seemed to me that 
 beneath your jests was concealed a decidedly- 
 friendly sentiment. Your letter has produced an 
 unpleasant impression on me. In reply to your 
 " idle chatter," as you put it, permit me also to 
 propound to you one question: To what end? 
 What have you to do with me, what have I to do 
 with you ? I do not assume any evil intentions on 
 your part, .... on the contrary, I am grateful 
 to you for your sympathy, .... but we are 
 strangers to each other, and I now, at all events, 
 feel not the slightest desire to become intimate 
 with any one whomsoever. 
 
 With sincere respects I remain, and so forth, 
 
 Maeya B***. 
 
 121
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 III 
 
 'From Aleccyei Petrovitch to Mary a 
 Alexdndrovna 
 
 St. Petersburg, March 30. 
 
 I thank you, Marya Alexandrovna, I thank 
 you for your note, curt as it is. All this time I 
 have been in a state of great agitation; twenty 
 times a day I have thought of you and of my let- 
 ter. You can imagine how caustically I have 
 laughed at myself; but now I am in a capital 
 frame of mind, and am patting myself on the 
 head. Marya Alexandrovna, I am entering into 
 correspondence with you! Confess that you 
 could not possibly have expected that after your 
 reply; I am amazed at my own audacity .... 
 never mind! But calm yourself: I want to 
 talk to you not about myself, but about you. 
 Here, do you see : I find it imperatively necessary 
 — to speak in antiquated style— to express my- 
 self to some one. I have no right to select you 
 for my confidante — I admit that; but hearken: I 
 demand from you no reply to my epistles; I do 
 not even wish to know whether you will peruse 
 my " idle chatter," but do not send me back my 
 letters, in the name of all that is holy! 
 
 Listen — I am utterly alone on earth. In my 
 youth I led a solitary life, although, I remember, 
 
 122
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 I never pretended to be a Byron ; but, in the first 
 place, circumstances, in the second place, the 
 ability to dream and a love for reverie, rather cold 
 blood, pride, indolence — in a word, a multitude of 
 varied causes alienated me from the society of 
 men. The transition from a dreamy to an active 
 life was effected in me late . . . perhaps too 
 late, perhaps to this day not completely. So long 
 as my own thoughts and feelings diverted me, so 
 long as I was capable of surrendering myself to 
 causeless silent raptures, and so forth, I did not 
 complain of my isolation. I had no comrades— I 
 did have so-called friends. Sometimes I needed 
 their presence as an electrical machine needs a dis- 
 charger — that was all. Love .... we will be 
 silent on that subject for the present. But now, 
 I confess, now loneliness weighs upon me, and 
 yet I see no escape from my situation. I do not 
 blame Fate; I alone am to blame, and I am justly 
 chastised. In my youth one thing alone interested 
 me: my charming ego; I took my good-natured 
 self-love for shyness; I shunned society, and lo! 
 now I am frightfully bored with myself. What 
 is to become of me? I love no one ; all my friend- 
 ships with other people are, somehow, strained and 
 false ; and I have no memories, because in all my 
 past life, I find nothing except my own self. 
 Save me! I have not made you enthusiastic vows 
 of love; I have not deafened you with a torrent 
 of chattering speeches; I have passed you by 
 
 123
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 with considerable coldness, and precisely for that 
 reason I have made up my mind now to ha;ve 
 recourse to you. (I had thought of this even 
 
 earlier, but you were not free then ) 
 
 Out of all my self-made joys and sufferings, the 
 sole genuine feeling was the small, but involun- 
 tary attraction to you, which withered then, like a 
 solitary ear of grain amid worthless weeds. . . . 
 Allow me, at least, to look into another face, an- 
 other soul, — my own face has grown repugnant to 
 me ; I am like a man who has been condemned to 
 live out his entire life in a room with walls made 
 of mirrors. ... I do not demand any confes- 
 sions from you — oh, heavens, no! Grant me the 
 speechless sympathy of a sister, or at least the 
 simple curiosity of a reader— I will interest you, 
 really, I will. 
 
 At any rate, I have the honour to be your sin- 
 cere friend, 
 
 A. S. 
 
 IV 
 
 From Alexyei Petrovitch to Mary a 
 Alexdndrovna 
 
 Petersburg, April 7th. 
 
 I write again to you, although I foresee that, 
 
 without your approval, I shall speedily hold my 
 
 peace. I must admit that you cannot fail to feel 
 
 a certain distrust of me. What of that? Perhaps 
 
 124
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 you are right. Formerly I would have declared 
 to you (and, probably, would have believed my 
 own words) that, since we parted, I had " devel- 
 oped," had advanced ; with condescending, almost 
 aiFectionate scorn I would have referred to my 
 past; with touching boastfulness I would have 
 initiated you into the secrets of my present, active 
 life .... but now, I assure you, Marya Ale- 
 xandrovna, I consider it shameful and disgusting 
 to allude to the way in which my vile self-love 
 once on a time fermented and amused itself. 
 Fear not: I shall not force upon you any great 
 truths, any profound views; I have none — none 
 of those truths and views. I have become a nice 
 fellow, — truly I have. I 'm bored, Marya Ale- 
 xandrovna — so bored that I can endure it no 
 longer. That is why I am writing to you. . . . 
 Really, it seems to me that we can come to an 
 
 agreement 
 
 However, I positively am in no condition to 
 talk to you until you stretch out your hand to me, 
 until I receive from you a note with the one word 
 " Yes." — Marya Alexandrovna, will you hear 
 me out?— that is the question. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 A. S. 
 
 125
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 V 
 
 From Mary a Aleoodndrovna to Alexyei 
 Petrovitch 
 
 Village of ... . no, April 14. 
 
 What a strange man you are! Well, then- 
 yes." 
 
 Maeya B***. 
 
 VI 
 
 From Alexyei Petrovitch to Mary a 
 Alexdndrovna 
 
 Petersburg, May 2, 1840. 
 
 Hurrah! Thanks, Marya Alexandrovna, 
 thanks! You are a very kind and indulgent 
 being. 
 
 I begin, according to my promise, to speak of 
 myself, and I shall speak with pleasure, verging 
 on appetite. . . . Precisely that. One may talk 
 of everything in the world with fervour, with rap- 
 ture, with enthusiasm, but only of one's self can 
 one talk with appetite. 
 
 Listen: an extremely strange incident hap- 
 pened to me the other day : I took a glance at my 
 past for the first time. You will understand me : 
 every one of us frequently recalls the past— with 
 
 126
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 compunction or with vexation, or simply for the 
 lack of something to do ; but only at a certain age 
 can one cast a cold, clear glance at his whole past 
 life — as a traveller, turning round, gazes from a 
 lofty mountain upon the plain which he has tra- 
 versed .... and a secret chill grips the heart of 
 a man when this happens to him for the first time. 
 At any rate, my heart contracted with pain. So 
 long as we are young, that sort of looking back- 
 ward is impossible. But my youth is over— and, 
 like the traveller on the mountain, everything has 
 become clearly visible to me. . . . 
 
 Yes, my youth is gone, gone irrevocably! . . . 
 Here it lies before me, all of it, as though in the 
 palm of my hand. . . . 
 
 'T is not a cheerful spectacle ! I confess to you, 
 Marya Alexandrovna, that I am very sorry for 
 myself. My God! My God! Is it possible that 
 I myself have ruined my own life to such a de- 
 gree, have so ruthlessly entangled and tortured 
 myself? . . . Now I have come to my senses, but 
 it is too late. Have you ever rescued a fly from 
 a spider? You have? Do you remember, you 
 placed it in the sunshine; its wings, its legs were 
 stuck together, glued fast. . . . How awk- 
 wardly it moved, how clumsily it tried to clean 
 itself! . . . After long-continued efforts, it got 
 itself to rights, after a fashion; it crawled, it 
 tried to put its wings in order .... but it could 
 not walk as it formerly did; it could not buzz, 
 
 127
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 care-free, in the sunshine, now flying through an 
 open window into a cool room, again fluttering 
 freely out into the hot air. ... It, at all events, 
 did not fall into the dreadful net of its own free 
 will .... but I ! 
 
 I was my own spider. 
 
 And, nevertheless, I cannot blame myself so 
 very much. Yes, and who— tell me, for mercy's 
 sake— who ever was to blame for anything— 
 alone? Or, to put it more accurately, we are all 
 to blame, yet it is impossible to blame us. Cir- 
 cumstances settle our fate : they thrust us into this 
 road or that, and then they punish us. Every man 
 has his fate. . . . Wait, wait! There occurs to 
 my mind on this score an artfully-constructed but 
 just comparison. As clouds are first formed by 
 the exhalations from the earth, rise up from its 
 bosom, then separate themselves from it, withdraw 
 from it, and bear over it either blessings or ruin, 
 just so around each one of us and from us our- 
 selves is formed — how shall I express it?— is 
 formed a sort of atmosphere which afterward 
 acts destructively or salutarily upon us ourselves. 
 This I call Fate. ... In other words, and to 
 put it simply: each person makes his own fate, 
 and it makes each person. . . . 
 
 Each person makes his own fate — yes! . . . 
 but our brethren make it far too much — which 
 constitutes our calamity! Consciousness is 
 aroused in us too early ; too early do we begin to 
 
 128
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 observe ourselves. . . . We Russians have no 
 other life-problem than the cultivation of our per- 
 sonality, and here we, barely adult children, al- 
 ready undertake to cultivate it, this our unhappy 
 personality! Without having received from 
 within any definite direction, in reality respect- 
 ing nothing, believing firmly in nothing, we are 
 free to make of ourselves whatsoever we will. 
 .... But it is impossible to demand of every 
 man that he shall immediately comprehend the 
 sterility of a mind, " seething in empty activ- 
 ity "... . and so, there is one more monster 
 in the world, one more of those insignifi- 
 cant beings in which the habits of self-love dis- 
 tort the very striving after truth, and ridiculous 
 ingenuousness lives side by side with pitiful 
 guile .... one of those beings to whose impo- 
 tent, uneasy thought there remains forever un- 
 known either the satisfaction of natural activity, 
 or the genuine suffering, or the genuine triumph 
 of conviction. . . . Combining in itself the de- 
 fects of all ages, we deprive each defect of its 
 good, its redeeming side. . . . We are as stupid 
 as children, but we are not sincere like them; we 
 are as cold as old men, but the common sense of 
 old age is not in us. . . On the other hand, we are 
 psychologists. Oh, yes, we are great psychologists! 
 But our psychology strays off into pathology ; our 
 psychology is an artful study of the laws of a dis- 
 eased condition and a diseased development, with 
 
 129
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 which healthy people have no concern. . . . But 
 the chief thing is, we are not young, — in youth 
 itself we are not young! 
 
 And yet — why calumniate one's self? Have we 
 really never been young? Have the vital forces 
 never sparkled, never seethed, never quivered in 
 us? Yet we have been in Arcadia, and we have 
 roved its bright meads ! . . . Have you ever hap- 
 pened, while strolling among bushes, to hit upon 
 those dark-hued harvest-flies, which, springing 
 out from under your very feet, suddenly expand 
 their bright red wings with a clatter, flutter on a 
 few paces, and then tumble into the grass again? 
 Just so did our dark youth sometimes expand its 
 gaily-coloured little wings for a few moments, 
 and a brief flight. . . . Do you remember our 
 silent evening rambles, the four of us together, 
 along the fence of your park, after some long, 
 warm, animated conversation? Do you remem- 
 ber those gracious moments? Nature received 
 us afl*ectionately and majestically into her lap. 
 We entered, with sinking heart, into some sort of 
 blissful waves. Round about the glow of sunset 
 kindled with sudden and tender crimson; from 
 the crimsoning sky, from the illuminated earth, 
 from everywhere, it seemed as though the fresh 
 and fiery breath of youth were wafted abroad, 
 and the joyous triumph of some immortal happi- 
 ness; the sunset glow blazed; like it, softly and 
 passionately blazed our enraptured hearts, and 
 
 130
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 the tiny leaves of the young trees quivered sen- 
 sitively and confusedly above us, as though re- 
 plying to the inward tremulousness of the indis- 
 tinct feelings and anticipations within us. Do 
 you remember that purity, that kindness and 
 trustfulness of ideas, that emotion of noble hopes, 
 that silence of plenitude? Can it be that we were 
 not then worthy of something better than that 
 to which life has conducted us? Why have we 
 been fated only at rare intervals to catch sight 
 of the longed-for shore, and never to stand 
 thereon with firm foothold, never to touch it^ 
 
 Not to weep sweetly, like the first of the Jews 
 On the borders of the Promised Land ? 
 
 These two lines of Fet ^ have reminded me of 
 others, — also by him. . . . Do you remember 
 how one day, as we were standing in the road, we 
 beheld in the distance a cloud of rosy dust, raised 
 by a light breeze, against the setting sun? " In 
 a billowy cloud " you began, and we all fell silent 
 on the instant, and set to listening: 
 
 In a billowy cloud 
 The dust rises in the distance. . . , 
 Whether horseman or pedestrian — 
 Cannot be descried for the dust. 
 
 * Afandsy Afanasievitch Shenshin (1820-1892) always wrote 
 under this name. —Translator. 
 
 131
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 I see some one galloping 
 On a spirited steed. . . . 
 My friend, my distant friend — 
 Remember me ! 
 
 You ceased. . . . All of us fairly shuddered, 
 as though the breath of love had flitted over our 
 hearts, and each one of us— I am convinced of 
 that— longed inexpressibly to flee away in the 
 distance, that unknown distance, where the appa- 
 rition of bliss rises up and beckons athwart the 
 mist. And yet, observe this odd thing: why 
 should we reach out into the distance?— we 
 thought. Were not we in love with each other? 
 Was not happiness " so near, so possible " ? And 
 I immediately asked you: "Why have not we 
 gained the shore we long for? " Because false- 
 hood was walking hand in hand with us ; because 
 it was poisoning our best sentiments; because 
 everything in us was artificial and strained; be- 
 cause we did not love each other at all, and only 
 tried to love, imagined that we did love 
 
 But enough, enough! Why irritate one's 
 wounds? Moreover, all that is past irrevocably. 
 That which was good in our past has touched me, 
 and on this good I bid you farewell for the time 
 being. And it is time to end this long letter. I 
 will go and inhale the May air here, in which, 
 through the winter's stern fortress, the spring is 
 forcing its way with a sort of moist and keen 
 warmth. Farewell. A. S. 
 
 132
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 VII 
 
 From Mary a Alexdndrovna to Alexyei 
 Petrovitch 
 
 Village of ... . no, May 20, 1840. 
 
 I have received your letter, Alexyei Petrovitch, 
 and do you know what feeling it aroused in me? 
 
 — Indignation .... yes, indignation 
 
 and I will immediately explain to you why it 
 aroused precisely that feeling in me. One thing 
 is a pity: I am not a mistress of the pen— I rarely 
 write. I do not know how to express my 
 thoughts accurately and in a few words ; but you 
 will, I hope, come to my aid. You yourself will 
 try to understand me: if only for the sake of 
 knowing why I am angry with you. 
 
 Tell me — you are a clever man — have you ever 
 asked yourself what sort of a creature a Russian 
 woman is? What is her fate, her position in 
 the world— in short, what her life is like? I do 
 not know whether you have ever had time to put 
 that question to yourself; I cannot imagine how 
 you would answer it. ... I might, in conversa- 
 tion, be able to communicate to you my ideas on 
 that subject, but I shall hardly manage it on 
 paper. However, it makes no difference. This 
 is the point: you surely will agree with me that 
 we women— at all events, those of us who are not 
 
 133
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 satisfied with the ordinary cares of domestic life 
 —receive our final education, all the same, from 
 you — from the men: you have a great and pow- 
 erful influence on us. Look, now, at what you 
 do with us. I shall speak of the young girls, es- 
 pecially of those who, like myself, dwell in the 
 dull places, and there are many such in Russia. 
 Moreover, I do not know others, and cannot 
 judge with regard to them. Figure to yourself 
 such a young girl. Here, now, her education is 
 finished ; she is beginning to live, to amuse herself. 
 But amusement alone is not enough for her. She 
 demands a great deal from life ; she reads, dreams 
 . ... of love.— " Always of love alone!" you 
 will say. . . . Let us assume that that word 
 means a great deal to her. I will say again that 
 I am not talking of the sort of girl who finds it 
 burdensome and tiresome to think. . . . She 
 looks about her, waits for the coming of him for 
 
 whom her soul pines At last he makes his 
 
 appearance: she is carried away; she is like soft 
 wax in his hands. Everything— happiness, and 
 love, and thought— everything has invaded her 
 together with him, all at once ; all her tremors are 
 soothed, all her doubts are solved by him; truth 
 itself seems to speak by his mouth; she worships 
 him, she is ashamed of her happiness, she learns, 
 she loves. Great is his power over her at this 
 period ! .... If he were a hero, he would kindle 
 her to flame, he would teach her to sacrifice her- 
 
 134
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 self, and all sacrifices would be easy to her ! But 
 there are no heroes in our day. . . . Neverthe- 
 less, he guides her whithersoever he will; she de- 
 votes herself to that which interests him, his every 
 word sinks into her soul: at that time, she does 
 not know, as yet, how insignificant and empty 
 and false that word may be, how little it costs 
 him who utters it, and how little faith it merits! 
 These first moments of bliss and hope are fol- 
 lowed, generally — according to circumstances — 
 (circumstances are always to blame) — are fol- 
 lowed by parting. It is said that there have been 
 cases where two kindred souls, on recognising 
 each other, have immediately united indissolubly ; 
 I have heard, also, that they are not always com- 
 fortable as a result. . . . But I will not speak 
 of that which I have not myself beheld — but that 
 the very pettiest sort of calculation, the most 
 woful prudence, may dwell in a young heart side 
 by side with the most passionate rapture, — that 
 is a fact which, unhappily, I know by my own ex- 
 perience. So, then, parting comes. . . . Happy 
 is that young girl who instantly recognises that 
 the end of all has come, who does not comfort 
 herself with expectation! But you brave, just 
 men, in the majority of cases, have neither the 
 courage nor the desire to tell us the truth .... 
 you find it more easy to deceive us. ... I am 
 ready to believe, however, that you deceive your- 
 selves along with us. . . . Parting! It is both 
 
 135
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 difficult and easy to endure parting. If only 
 faith in him whom one loves were intact and unas- 
 sailed, the soul would conquer the pain of part- 
 ing I will say more : only when she is left 
 
 alone does she learn the sweetness of solitude, not 
 sterile but filled with memories and thoughts. 
 Only then will she learn to know herself — will she 
 
 come to herself, will she grow strong In the 
 
 letters of the distant friend she will find a support 
 for herself; in her own she will, perhaps, for the 
 first time, express her mind fully. . . . But as two 
 persons who have started from the source of a 
 river along its different banks can, at first, clasp 
 hands, then hold communication only with the 
 voice, but ultimately lose sight of each other: so 
 also two beings are ultimately disjoined by sepa- 
 ration. "What of that?" you will say: "evidently 
 they were not fated to go together. . . ." But 
 here comes in the difference between a man and 
 a woman. It signifies nothing to a man to begin 
 a new life, to shake far from him the past; a 
 woman cannot do that. No, she cannot cast aside 
 her past, she cannot tear herself away from her 
 roots — no, a thousand times no! And so, a piti- 
 ful and ridiculous spectacle presents itself. . . . 
 Gradually losing hoj^e and faith in herself, — you 
 can form no idea of how painful that is, — she 
 will pine away and fade alone, obstinately cling- 
 ing to her memories, and turning away from 
 
 everything which life around her offers 
 
 And he? ... . Seek him! Where is he? And 
 
 186
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 is it worth while for him to pause? What time 
 has he for looking back? All this is a thing of 
 the past for him, you see. 
 
 Or here is another thing which happens: it 
 sometimes happens that he will suddenly conceive 
 a desire to meet the former object of his affec- 
 tions, he will even deliberately go to her. . . . But, 
 my God ! from what a motive of petty vain-glory 
 he does it! In his polite compassion, in his coun- 
 sels which are intended to be friendly, in his 
 condescending explanations of the past, there is 
 audible such a consciousness of his own superior- 
 ity! It is so agreeable and cheerful a thing for 
 him to let himself feel every minute how sensible 
 and kind he is! And how little he understands 
 what he is doing ! How well he manages not even 
 to guess at what is going on in the woman's heart, 
 and how insultingly he pities her, if he does guess 
 it' 
 
 J. V • • • • 
 
 Tell me, please, whence are we to get the 
 strength to endure all this ? Remember this, too : 
 in the majority of cases, a girl who, to her mis- 
 fortune, has an idea beginning to stir in her head, 
 when she begins to love, and falls under the influ- 
 ence of a man, involuntarily separates herself 
 from her family, from her acquaintances. Even 
 previously she has not been satisfied with their 
 life, yet she has walked on by their side, preserv- 
 ing in her soul all her intimate secrets. . . . But the 
 breach speedily makes itself visible. . . . They 
 cease to understand her, they are ready to suspect 
 
 137
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 every movement of hers. ... At first she pays 
 no heed to this, but afterward, afterward .... 
 when she is left alone, when that toward which she 
 has been striving and for which she has sacrificed 
 everything escapes her grasp, when she has not 
 attained to heaven, but when every near thing, 
 every possible thing, has retreated far from her 
 —what shall uphold her? Sneers, hints, the vul- 
 gar triumph of coarse common sense she can 
 still bear, after a fashion .... but what is she 
 to do, to what is she to have recourse, when the 
 inward voice begins to whisper to her that all 
 those people were right, and that she has been 
 mistaken; that life, of whatever sort it may be, 
 is better than dreams, as health is better than dis- 
 ease .... when her favourite occupations, her 
 favourite books, disgust her, the books from 
 which one cannot extract happiness, — what, say 
 you,— what shall uphold her? How is she to help 
 succumbing in such a struggle? How is she to 
 live and to go on living in such a wilderness? 
 Confess herself vanquished, and extend her hand 
 like a beggar to indifferent people? Will not 
 they give her at least some of that happiness with 
 which the proud heart once imagined that it could 
 dispense— all that is nothing as yet! But to feel 
 one's self ridiculous at the very moment when one 
 is shedding bitter, bitter tears .... akh! God 
 forbid that you should go through that experi- 
 ence! .... 
 
 188
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 My hands are trembling, and I am in a fever 
 all over. . . . My face is burning hot. It is time 
 for me to stop. ... I shall send off this letter as 
 speedily as possible, while I am not ashamed of 
 my weakness. But, for God's sake, not a word in 
 your reply — do you hear me? — not a word of 
 pity, or I will never write to you again. Under- 
 stand me : I should not like to have you take this 
 letter as the outpouring of a misunderstood soul 
 which is making complaint. . . Akh! it is all a 
 matter of indifference to me ! Farewell. 
 
 M. 
 
 VIII 
 
 From Alexyei Petrovitch to Mary a 
 Alexdndrovna 
 
 St. Petersburg, May 28, 1840. 
 
 Marya Alexandrovna, you are a fine creature 
 .... indeed j'^ou are . . . your letter has disclosed to 
 me the truth at last ! O Lord my God ! what tor- 
 ture! A man is constantly thinking that now he 
 has attained simplicity, no longer shows off, puts 
 on airs, or lies .... but when you come to look 
 at him more attentively, he has become almost 
 worse than he was before. And this must be 
 noted: the man himself, alone that is to say, will 
 never attain to that consciousness, bestir himself 
 as he may! his eye will not discern his own de- 
 
 139
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 fects, just as the blunted eye of the printer will 
 not detect errors: another, a fresher eye is re- 
 quired. I thank you, Marya Alexandrovna. . . . 
 You see, I am speaking to you of myself; I dare 
 not speak of you. . . . Akh, how ridiculous my 
 last letter seems to me now,— so eloquent and sen- 
 timental ! Go on, I beg of you, with your confes- 
 sion; I have a premonition that you will be re- 
 lieved thereby, and it will be of great benefit to 
 me. Not without cause does the proverb say : "A 
 woman's wit is better than many thoughts " ; and 
 a woman's heart is far more so — God is my wit- 
 ness that it is so ! If women only knew how much 
 better, and more magnanimous, and clever — pre- 
 cisely that — clever they are than the men, they 
 would grow puffed up with pride, and get 
 spoiled : but, fortunately, they do not know that ; 
 they do not know it because their thoughts have 
 not become accustomed to returning incessantly 
 to themselves, as have the thoughts of us men. 
 They think little about themselves — that is their 
 weakness and their strength; therein lies the 
 whole secret— I will not say of our superiority, 
 but of our power. They squander their souls, as 
 a lavish heir squanders his father's gold, but we 
 collect interest from every look. . . . How can 
 they enter into rivalry with us? . . . All this is 
 not compliments, but the simple truth, demon- 
 strated by experience. Again I entreat you, 
 Marya Alexandrovna, to continue writing to me. 
 
 140
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 ... If you only knew all that comes into my 
 mind ! . . But now I do not want to talk, I want 
 to listen to you. . . . My speech will come later 
 on. Write, write. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 A. S. 
 
 IX 
 
 From Mary a Alexdndrovna to Alexyei 
 Petrovitch 
 
 Village of ... . no, June 12, 1840. 
 
 No sooner had I despatched my last letter to 
 you, Alexyei Petrovitch, than I repented of it; 
 but there was no help for it. One thing somewhat 
 soothed me ; I am convinced that you have under- 
 stood under the influence of what long-sup- 
 pressed feelings it was written, and have forgiven 
 me. I did not even read over at the time what I 
 had written to you; I remember that my heart 
 was beating so violently that my pen trembled in 
 my hand. However, although I probably should 
 have expressed myself differently if I had given 
 myself time to think it over, still I have no inten- 
 tion of disclaiming either my words or the feel- 
 ings which I have imparted to you to the best of 
 my ability. To-day I am much more cool-headed, 
 and have far better control over myself. . . . 
 
 I remember that I spoke toward the end of my 
 
 141
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 letter about the painful situation of the young 
 girl who recognises the fact that she is isolated 
 even among her own people. ... I will not en- 
 large further on that point, but rather will I com- 
 municate to you a few details; it seems to me that 
 I shall bore you less in that way. 
 
 In the first place, you must know that through- 
 out the whole country-side I am not called an}^- 
 thing but " the female philosopher "; the ladies, 
 in particular, allude to me by that name. Some 
 assert that I sleep with a Latin book in my 
 hands and in spectacles; others, that I know 
 how to extract some cubic roots or other: not 
 one of them cherishes any doubt that I wear 
 masculine attire on the sly, and that instead of 
 "good morning," I say abi*uptly: "Georges 
 Sand!" — and indignation against "the female 
 philosopher " is on the increase. We have a 
 neighbour, a man of five-and-forty, a great wit, 
 .... at least, he has the reputation of being a 
 great wit, .... and for him my poor person is 
 an inexhaustible subject for jeers. He has re- 
 lated, concerning me, that as soon as the moon 
 rises in the sky, I cannot take my eyes from it, 
 and he shows how I look ; that I even drink coiFee 
 not with cream but with the moon, that is to say, 
 I set my cup in its rays. He swears that I use 
 phrases in the nature of the following: " That 
 is easy because it is difficult; although, on the 
 other hand, it is difficult because it is easy." 
 
 142
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 . . . He declares that I am always seeking some 
 word or other, always yearning " thither," and 
 he inquires, with comic indignation: "Whither 
 is thither? Whither? " He has also set in cir- 
 culation about me a rumour to the effect that 
 I ride by night on horseback back and forth 
 through the ford of the river, singing the while 
 Schubert's " Serenade," or simply moaning: 
 "Beethoven, Beethoven!" as much as to say— 
 " She 's such a fiery old woman! " and so forth, 
 and so forth. Of course, all this immediately 
 reaches my ears. Perhaps this may surprise you ; 
 but do not forget that four years have elapsed 
 since you have sojourned in these parts. Re- 
 member how every one gazed askance at us 
 then. . . . Now their turn has come. And all 
 this is nothing. I sometimes happen to hear 
 words which pierce my heart much more pain- 
 fully. I will not mention the fact that my poor, 
 good mother cannot possibly pardon me for your 
 cousin's indifference ; but all my life runs through 
 the fire, as my old nurse expresses it. " Of 
 course," — I hear constantly, — "how are we to 
 keep up with thee? We are plain folks, we are 
 guided only by common sense ; but, after all, when 
 one comes to think of it, to what have all these 
 philosophisings and books and acquaintances 
 with learned people brought thee? " Perhaps 
 you remember my sister — not the one to whom 
 you were formerly not indifferent, but the other, 
 
 143
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 the elder, who is married. Her husband, you will 
 remember, is a decidedly -ridiculous man; you 
 often used to make fun of him in those days. Yet 
 she is happy : the mother of a family, she loves her 
 husband, and her husband adores her. ..." I 
 am like all the rest," — she says to me sometimes; 
 — " but how about thee? " And she is right: I 
 envy her. . . . 
 
 And nevertheless I feel that I should not like 
 to change places with her. Let them call me " a 
 female philosopher," " an eccentric," whatever 
 they choose — I shall remain faithful to the end 
 . ... to what? — to an ideal, pray? Yes, to an 
 ideal. Yes, I shall remain faithful to the end to 
 that which first made my heart beat,— to that 
 which I have acknowledged and do acknowledge 
 to be the true, the good. If only my strength 
 does not fail me, if only my idol does not prove a 
 soulless block. . . . 
 
 If you really do feel friendship for me, if you 
 really have not forgotten me, you must help me ; 
 you must disperse my doubts, strengthen my 
 beliefs. . . . 
 
 But what aid can you render me? " All this is 
 nonsense, like the useless running of a squirrel on 
 a wheel," said my uncle to me yesterday— I think 
 you do not know him — a retired naval officer, and 
 a far from stupid man. "A husband, children, a 
 pot of buckwheat groats: to tend husband and 
 children, and look after the pot of groats — that 's 
 
 144)
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 what a woman needs." . . . Tell me, he is right, 
 is he not? 
 
 If he really is right, I can still repair the past, 
 I can still get into the common rut. What else is 
 there for me to wait for? What is there to hope 
 for? In one of your letters, you spoke of the 
 wings of youth. How often, how long they re- 
 main fettered! And then comes a time, when 
 they fall off; and it is no longer possible to raise 
 one's self above the earth, to soar heavenward. 
 Write to me. 
 
 Yours, M. 
 
 X 
 
 From Alexyei Petrovitch to Mary a 
 Alexdn4rovna 
 
 St. Petersburg, June 16, 1840. 
 
 I hasten to answer your letter, my dear Marya 
 Alexandrovna. I will confess to you that if it 
 were not for .... I will not say business— I 
 have none — if it were not for my being so stu- 
 pidly habituated to this place, I would go again 
 to you and would talk my fill, but on paper all 
 this comes out so coldly, in such a dead man- 
 ner. . . . 
 
 I repeat to you, Marya Alexandrovna : women 
 are better than men, and you ought to demon- 
 strate that in deed. Let us men fling aside our 
 
 145
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 convictions, like a worn-out garment, or barter 
 them for a morsel of bread, or, in conclusion, let 
 them fall into the sleep which knows no waking, 
 and place over them, as over one formerly be- 
 loved, a tombstone, to which one goes only now 
 and then to pray — let us men do all that; but do 
 not you women be false to yourselves, do not be- 
 tray your ideal. . . . That word has become ri- 
 diculous. . . . To be afraid of the ridiculous is 
 not to love the truth. It does happen, it is true, 
 that a stupid laugh will make the stupid man, 
 even good people, renounce a great deal .... 
 take for example the defence of an absent friend. 
 ... I am guilty in that respect myself. But, I 
 repeat it, you women are better than we are. . . . 
 In trifles you are inclined to yield to us ; but you 
 understand better than we do how to look the 
 devil straight in the eye. I shall give you neither 
 aid nor advice— how can I? and you do not need 
 it; but I do stretch forth my hand to you, and I 
 do say to you: " Have patience; fight until the 
 end; and know that, as a feeling, the conscious- 
 ness of a battle honourably waged almost tran- 
 scends the triumph of victory." .... The vic- 
 tory does not depend upon us. 
 
 Of course, from a certain point of view, your 
 uncle is right: family life is everything for a wo- 
 man ; there is no other life for her. 
 
 But what does that prove? Only the Jesuits 
 assert that every means is good, if only one at- 
 
 146
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 tains his end. It is not true! not true! It is an 
 indignity to enter a clean temple with feet soiled 
 with the mire of the road. At the end of your 
 letter there is a phrase which I do not like: you 
 want to get into the common rut. Look out— do 
 not make a misstep! Do not forget, moreover, 
 that it is impossible to efface the past ; and strive 
 as you may, force yourself as you will, you cannot 
 make yourself your sister. You have ascended 
 above her. But your soul is broken, hers is intact. 
 You can lower yourself, bend down to her, but 
 nature will not resign her rights, and the broken 
 place will not grow together again. . . . 
 
 You are afraid— let us speak without circum- 
 locution — you are afraid of remaining an old 
 maid. I know that you are already twenty-six 
 years old. As a matter of fact, the position of 
 old maids is not enviable: every one so gladly 
 laughs at them ; every one notes their oddities and 
 their weaknesses with such unmagnanimous de- 
 light. But if you scan more closely any elderly 
 bachelor, — he deserves to have the finger of scorn 
 pointed at him also, — you will find in him cause to 
 laugh your fill. What is to be done ? Happiness 
 is not to be captured by battle. But we must not 
 forget that not happiness but human dignity is 
 the chief goal of life. 
 
 You describe your position with great humour. 
 I well understand all its bitterness ; your position 
 may, I am sure, be called tragic. But you must 
 
 147
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 know that you are not the only one who finds 
 herself in it : there is hardly any man of the pres- 
 ent day who does not find himself in it also. You 
 will say that that does not make it any the easier 
 for you; but what I think is that to suffer in 
 company with thousands is quite a different thing 
 from suffering alone. It is not a question of ego- 
 tism here, but of a feeling of universal necessity. 
 " All this is very fine, let us assume," you will 
 say, . . . "but, in point of fact, it is not appli- 
 cable to the case." Why is it not applicable? Up 
 to the present day I think, and I hope that I shall 
 never cease to think, that in God's world every- 
 thing honest, good, and true is applicable, and 
 sooner or later will be fulfilled ; and not only will 
 be fulfilled, but is already being fulfilled, if each 
 one will only hold himself firmly in his place, will 
 not lose patience, will not desire the impossible, 
 but will act, so far as his strength permits. But 
 I think I have given myself up too much to ab- 
 stractions. I will defer the continuation of my 
 arguments until another letter ; but I do not wish 
 to lay down my pen without having pressed your 
 hand warmly, very warmly, and wished you, with 
 all my soul, everything that is good on earth. 
 
 Yours, A. S. 
 
 P.S. By the way, you say that you have no- 
 thing to look forward to, nothing to hope for; 
 how do you know that, allow me to ask? 
 
 148
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 XI 
 
 From Mary a Alexdndrovna to Aleooyei 
 Petrovitch 
 
 Village of ... . no, June 30, 1840. 
 
 How grateful I am to you for your letter, 
 Alexyei Petrovitch ! How much good it has done 
 me! I see that you really are a good and trust- 
 worthy man, and therefore I shall not dissimu- 
 late before you. I trust you. I know that you 
 will not make a bad use of my frankness and that 
 you will give me friendly advice. That is the 
 point. 
 
 You noticed at the end of my letter a phrase 
 which did not entirely please you. This is what 
 it referred to. There is a neighbour here .... 
 he was not here in your day, and you have not 
 seen him. He ... I might marry him, if I 
 wished; he is a man who is still young, cultured, 
 wealthy. There are no obstacles on the side of 
 my relatives; on the contrary, they — I know this 
 for certain— desire this marriage; he is a fine 
 man, and I think he loves me. . . . But he is so 
 languid and petty, all his desires are so narrow, 
 that I cannot help recognising my superiority 
 over him ; he feels this, and seems to take delight 
 in it, and precisely that repels me from him; I 
 cannot respect him, although he has an excellent 
 
 149
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 heart. What am I to do, tell me? Think for me 
 and write me your opinion sincerely. 
 
 But how grateful I am to you for your letter! 
 . . . Do you know, I have sometimes been visited 
 by such bitter thoughts. . . . Do you know, I 
 have gone so far as almost to feel ashamed of 
 every— I will not say exalted— but of every 
 trustful feeling. I have shut my book in vexation 
 when it spoke of hope and happiness; I have 
 turned away from the cloudless sky, from the 
 fresh verdure of the trees, from everything thai 
 smiled and was glad. What a painful condition 
 this was! I say "was" ... as though it had 
 passed ! 
 
 I do not know whether it has passed; I know 
 that if it does not return I shall be indebted to 
 you for it. You see, Alexyei Petrovitch, how 
 much good you have done, perhaps without your- 
 self suspecting it! Now, in the very heart of 
 summer, the days are magnificent, the sky is blue, 
 bright. ... It cannot be more beautiful in Italy. 
 But you are sitting in a stifling and dusty town, 
 you are walking on the scorching pavements. 
 What possesses you to do it? You ought, at 
 least, to remove to a villa somewhere. They say 
 that beyond PeterhofF, on the seashore, there are 
 charming places. 
 
 I should like to write more to you, but it is im- 
 possible: such a sweet perfume has been wafted 
 up to me from the garden that I cannot remain 
 
 150
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 in the house. I shall put on my hat and go for a 
 stroll. . . . Farewell until another time, kind 
 Alexyei Petrovitch. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 P.S. I have forgotten to tell you .... just 
 imagine : that wit, of whom I recently wrote you, 
 — just imagine: he has made me a declaration of 
 love, and in the most fiery terms! At first I 
 thought that he was making fun of me; but he 
 wound up with a formal proposal. What do you 
 think of that, after all his calumnies? But he is 
 positively too old. Last night, to pique him, I 
 sat down at the piano in front of the open window 
 in the moonlight, and played Beethoven. It was 
 so delightful to me to feel its cold light on my 
 face, so consolatory to send forth upon the per- 
 fumed night air the noble sounds of music, 
 athwart which, at times, the song of the nightin- 
 gale was audible! It is a long time since I have 
 been so happy, but do you write to me concern- 
 ing the thing I asked you about in the beginning 
 of my letter: it is very important. 
 
 151
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 XII 
 
 From Alexyei Petrovitch to Mary a 
 Alexdndrovna 
 
 St. Petersburg, July 8, 1840. 
 
 My dear Marya Alexandrovna, here is my 
 opinion in two words : throw both the old bachelor 
 and the young suitor overboard I There 's no use 
 in deliberating over this. Neither of them is 
 worthy of you— that is as clear as that twice two 
 are four. The young neighbour may be a good 
 man, but I throw him over I I am convinced that 
 you and he have nothing in common, and you can 
 imagine how cheerful it would be to live together ! 
 And why be in a hurry? Is it possible that a 
 woman like you — I have no intention of paying 
 compliments, and therefore will not enlarge fur- 
 ther—that such a woman as you should not 
 meet some one who will know how to appre- 
 ciate her? No, Marya Alexandrovna; heed me if 
 you really think that my advice is beneficial. 
 
 But confess that you found it pleasant to be- 
 hold that old calumniator at your feet! ... If 
 I had been in your place, I would have made him 
 sing Beethoven's " Adelaida " the whole night 
 through, staring at the moon the while. 
 
 But God be with them, with your admirers! It 
 is not of them that I wish to talk with you to-day. 
 
 152
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 I am in a sort of half-irritated, half -agitated con- 
 dition to-day, as the result of a letter which I re- 
 ceived yesterday. I send you a copy of it. This 
 letter was written by one of my very old friends 
 and comrades in the service, a kind-hearted but 
 rather narrow-minded man. A couple of years 
 ago he went abroad, and up to the present he has 
 not written to me a single time. Here is his let- 
 ter. N.B. He is very far from bad-looking. 
 
 " Cher Alexis: 
 
 " I am in Naples. I am sitting in my chamber 
 on the Chiaja at the window. The weather is 
 wonderful. At first I gazed a long time at the 
 sea, then impatience seized upon me, and the bril- 
 liant idea of writing a letter to thee occurred to 
 me. I have always felt an affection for thee, my 
 dear friend, — Heaven is my witness that I have! 
 And now I should like to pour myself into thy 
 bosom ... I believe that is the way it is ex- 
 pressed in our elevated language. And the rea- 
 son I have been seized with impatience is that I 
 am expecting a woman; together we shall go to 
 Raise to eat oysters and oranges, to watch the 
 dark-brown shepherds in red nightcaps dance 
 the tarantella, to broil ourselves in the sunshine, 
 to watch the lizards — in a word, to enjoy life to 
 the full. My dear friend, I am so happy that I 
 am unable to express it to you. If I possessed thy 
 power with the pen, oh, what a picture I would 
 
 153
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 draw before thine eyes! But, unfortunately, as 
 thou knowest, I am an ilHterate man. The wo- 
 man for whom I am waiting, and who has already 
 made me constantly start and glance at the door, 
 loves me — and as for the way I love her, it seems 
 to me that even thou with thy eloquent pen couldst 
 not describe that. 
 
 " I must tell thee that I have known her for 
 the last three months, and ever since the very 
 first day of our acquaintance, my love has gone 
 on crescendo, in the shape of a chromatic scale, 
 ever higher and higher, and at the present mo- 
 ment it has already attained to the seventh 
 heaven. I am jesting, but, as a matter of fact, 
 my attachment to that woman is something ex- 
 traordinary, supernatural. Just imagine: I 
 hardly ever talk with her, but I stare at her in- 
 cessantly and laugh. I sit at her feet, I feel that 
 I am frightfully stupid and happy, simply un- 
 lawfully happy. It sometimes happens that she 
 lays her hand on my head. . . . And then, I 
 must tell thee, . . . but thou canst not under- 
 stand it ; for thou art a philosopher, and have been 
 a philosopher all thy life. Her name is Nina, 
 Ninetta— as thou wilt; she is the daughter of a 
 wealthy merchant here. Beautiful as all thy Ra- 
 phaels ; lively as powder, blithe, so clever that it is 
 positively amazing that she should have fallen in 
 love with such a fool as myself; she sings like a 
 bird, and her eyes— 
 
 154
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 " Forgive me, pray, for this involuntary tirade. 
 ... I thought the door creaked. . . . No, the 
 rogue has not come yet! Thou wilt ask me how 
 all this is going to end, and what I mean to do 
 with myself, and whether I shall remain here 
 long. I know nothing, and wish to know nothing, 
 about that, my dear fellow. What is to be will 
 be. . .- . For if one is to pause and reason con- 
 stantly 
 
 " 'Tis she! .... She is running up the stairs 
 and singing. . . She has come. . . Well, good- 
 by, my dear fellow. ... I 'm in no mood for 
 thee. Pardon me — it is she who has spattered 
 this letter all over: she struck the paper with her 
 damp nosegay. At first she thought I was writ- 
 ing to a woman ; but as soon as she found out that 
 it was to a man-friend, she bade me give you her 
 compliments, and inquire whether there are any 
 flowers in your country, and whether they are 
 fragrant. Well, good-by. ... If you could 
 only hear how she laughs ! . . . Silver rings just 
 like that: and what goodness in every sound!— 
 One fairly wants to kiss her feet. Let us go, let 
 us go! Be not angry at this untidy scrawl, and 
 envy thy— 
 
 M . . ." 
 
 The letter actually was bespattered, and ex- 
 haled an odour of orange-flowers . . . two white 
 petals had adhered to the paper. This letter has 
 
 155
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 excited me. ... I have called to mind my so- 
 journ in Naples. . . . The weather was magnifi- 
 cent then also; May was only just beginning; I 
 had recently completed my twenty-second year; 
 but I did not know any Ninetta. I roamed about 
 alone, consumed with a thirst for bliss, which was 
 both painful and sweet,— sweet to the point where 
 it itself bore a sort of resemblance to bliss. . . . 
 What a thing it is to be young ! . . . I remember 
 I once went out for a row on the bay at night. 
 There were two of us: the boatman and I . . . . 
 but what was it you thought? What a night it 
 was, and what a sky, what stars— how they trem- 
 bled and crumbled in the waves! With what a 
 liquid flame did the water flow over and flash up 
 under the oars, what perfume was wafted all 
 over the sea— it is not for me to describe, how- 
 ever " eloquent " my pen may be. A French ship 
 of the line lay at anchor in the roadstead. It 
 glowed obscurely red all over with lights; long 
 streaks of red light, the reflection of the illumi- 
 nated windows, stretched across the dark sea. 
 Merry music reached me in occasional bursts; I 
 recall, in particular, the trill of a small flute amid 
 the dull blaring of the horns ; it seemed to flutter 
 like a butterfly around my boat. I ordered the 
 man to row to the ship; twice did we make the 
 circuit of it. Women's forms flitted past the win- 
 dows, borne smartly past on the whirlwind of the 
 waltz. ... I ordered the boatman to put off, 
 
 156
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 far away, straight out into the darkness. . . I 
 remember that the sounds pursued me long and 
 importunately. . . . At last they died away. I 
 stood up in the boat and stretched out my arms 
 over the sea in the dumb pain of longing. . . . 
 Oh, how my heart ached then! How oppressive 
 was my loneliness! With what joy would I have 
 given myself at that moment wholly, wholly .... 
 wholly, if only there had been any one to whom 
 to give myself! With what a bitter feeling in 
 my soul did I fling myself, face down, in the 
 bottom of the boat and, like RepetiloiF, request 
 him to take me somewhere or other! 
 
 But my friend here experienced nothing of 
 that sort. And why should he ? He has managed 
 matters much more cleverly than I did. He is liv- 
 ing .... while I . . . . not without cause has 
 
 he called me a philosopher 'T is strange ! 
 
 You, also, are called a philosopher. . . . Why 
 should such a calamity overtake us? ... . 
 
 I am not living. . . . But who is to blame for 
 that? Why do I sit here in Petersburg? What 
 am I doing here? Why do I kill day after day? 
 Why don't I go to the country? Are not our 
 steppes beautiful? Or cannot one breathe freely 
 in them? Or is it stifling in them? What pos- 
 sesses me to pursue dreams, when, perchance, 
 happiness is within my reach? It is settled: I am 
 going away, I am going away to-morrow, if pos- 
 sible; I am going home, that is, to you— it is all 
 
 157
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 the same: for we live only twenty versts apart. 
 What 's the use, after all, in languishing here ? 
 And why is it that this idea did not occur to me 
 earlier? My dear Marya Alexandrovna, we shall 
 soon meet. But it is remarkable that this thought 
 did not enter my head until this moment! I 
 ought to have gone away long, long ago. Fare- 
 well until we meet, Marya Alexandrovna. 
 
 July 9th. 
 
 I have deliberately given myself twenty-four 
 hours to think it over, and now I am definitively 
 convinced that there is no reason why I should 
 remain here. The dust in the streets is so biting 
 that it makes one's eyes ache. To-day I shall be- 
 gin to pack; on the day after to-morrow, prob- 
 ably, I shall leave here ; and ten days hence I shall 
 have the pleasure of seeing you. I hope you will 
 receive me as of old. By the way — your sister is 
 still visiting your aunt, is she not? 
 
 Permit me, JNIarya Alexandrovna, to press 
 your hand warmly, and to say to you from my 
 soul : farewell until a speedy meeting. I was pre- 
 paring to leave in any case, but this letter has pre- 
 cipitated my intention. Let us assume that this 
 letter proves nothing ; let us even assume that Ni- 
 netta would not please any one else — me, for ex- 
 ample. Yet I am going, all the same ; there is no 
 doubt about that. Farewell for the present. 
 
 Yours, A. S. 
 158
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 XIII 
 
 From Mary a Alexdndrovna to Aleocyei 
 Petrovitch 
 
 Village of . . . no, July 16, 1840. 
 
 You are coming hither, you will soon be with 
 us, will you not, Alexyei Petrovitch? I will not 
 conceal from you that this news both delights 
 and agitates me. . . . How shall we meet? Will 
 that spiritual bond be preserved which, so it seems 
 to me, has already begun to unite us? Will 
 it not break when we meet? I do not know; I 
 am apprehensive, for some reason or other. I 
 will not answer your last letter, although I might 
 say a good deal; I will defer all this until we 
 meet. My mother is greatly delighted at your 
 coming. . . . She has been aware that I was cor- 
 responding with you. The weather is enchant- 
 ing. We will walk a great deal ; I will show you 
 the new places which I have discovered .... one 
 long, narrow valley is particularly nice: it lies 
 between hillocks, covered with forest. ... It 
 seems to be hiding in their curves. A tiny brook 
 flows along it and can barely force its way 
 through the grass and flowers. . . . You shall 
 see. Come: perhaps you will not find it tedious. 
 
 M. B. 
 159
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 P.S. You will not see my sister, I think: she 
 is still visiting my aunt. I believe (this is be- 
 tween ourselves) that she is going to marry a 
 very amiable young man— an officer. Why did 
 you send me that letter from Naples? The life 
 here perforce seems dim and pale in comparison 
 with that luxury and that brilliancy. But Made- 
 moiselle Ninetta is wrong: flowers grow and are 
 fragrant— even with us. 
 
 XIV 
 
 From Mary a Aleocdndrovna to Alexyei 
 Petrovitch 
 
 Village of . . .' no, January, 1841. 
 I have written to you several times, Alexyei 
 Petrovitch. . . . You have not answered me. 
 Are you alive? Or perhaps our correspondence 
 has begun to bore you; perhaps you have found 
 for yourself a more agreeable diversion than the 
 letters of a rustic young lady can aff'ord you? 
 Evidently you called me to mind for the lack of 
 something to do. If that is the case, I wish you 
 happiness. If you do not answer me this time, 
 I shall not trouble you again; there will be no- 
 thing left for me to do but to regret my impru- 
 dence, that I have unnecessarily permitted my- 
 self to be roused up, have offered my hand and 
 emerged, if only for a moment, from my isolated 
 
 160
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 nook. I ought to remain in it forever, lock 
 myself in— that is my portion, the portion of all 
 old maids. I ought to accustom myself to that 
 thought. There is no necessity for coming out 
 into God's sunlight, no necessity for craving 
 fresh air, when the lungs will not bear it. By 
 the way, we are now blocked up with dead drifts 
 of snow. I shall be more sensible henceforth. 
 . . . People do not die of boredom, but it is pos- 
 sible to perish with melancholy, I suppose. If I 
 am mistaken, prove it to me. But I think I am 
 not mistaken. In any case, farewell. I wish you 
 happiness. M. B. 
 
 From Alexyei Petrovitch to Mary a 
 Alexdndrovna 
 
 Dresden, September, 1842. 
 
 I write to you, my dear Marya Alexandrovna, 
 and I write only because I do not wish to die with- 
 out having taken leave of you, and without hav- 
 ing recalled myself to your mind. I am con- 
 demned by the doctors .... and I myself feel 
 that my life is drawing to a close. On my table 
 stands a roiie; before it fades I shall be no more. 
 But that comparison is not quite just. The rose 
 is far more interesting than I am. 
 
 161
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 As you see, I am abroad. I have been In Dres- 
 den six months. I received your last letters— I 
 am ashamed to confess: I lost several of them 
 more than a year ago, and did not answer you. . . 
 I will tell you presently why. But, evidently, 
 you have always been dear to me: with the ex- 
 ception of yourself, there is no one of whom I 
 wish to take leave, and perhaps I have no one to 
 whom I could bid farewell. 
 
 Soon after my last letter to you (I was quite 
 ready to set out for your parts, and was making 
 various plans in advance), there happened to me 
 an episode which had, I may say, a strong influ- 
 ence on my fate,— so strong that here I am, dy- 
 ing, thanks to that event. To wit: I set out for 
 the theatre, to see the ballet. I have never liked 
 the ballet, and have always felt a secret disgust 
 for all sorts of actresses, singers, and dancers. . . . 
 But, obviously, one cannot change his fate, nei- 
 ther does any one know himself, and it is also 
 impossible to foresee the future. In point of 
 fact, nothing happens in life except the unex- 
 pected, and we do nothing all our life long but 
 adjust ourselves to events. . . . But I believe I 
 am dropping into philosophy again. Old habit! 
 ... In a word, I fell in love with a dancer. 
 
 This was all the more strange because she 
 could not be called a beauty. She had, it is true, 
 wonderful golden hair, with an ash tinge, and 
 large, bright eyes, with a pensive and, at the same 
 
 162
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 time, a bold glance. . . . Have n't I cause to 
 know the expression of that glance ? I pined and 
 languished for a whole year in its rays ! She had 
 a splendid figure, and when she danced her folk- 
 dance, the spectators used to stamp and shout 
 with rapture. . . . But I do not think any one 
 besides myself fell in love with her — at all events, 
 no one fell in love with her as I did. From the 
 very minute that I beheld her for the first time — 
 (will you believe it? all I have to do even now is 
 to shut my eyes, and immediately here stands be- 
 fore me the theatre, the almost empty stage, rep- 
 resenting the interior of a forest, and she runs 
 out from behind the side-scenes on the right, with 
 a wreath of vine-leaves on her head and a tiger- 
 skin over her shoulders) — from that fatal minute 
 I belonged to her wholly, — just as a dog belongs 
 to his master ; and if now, when I am dying, I do 
 not belong to her, it is merely because she has cast 
 me off. 
 
 To tell the truth, she never troubled herself 
 especially about me. She barely noticed me, al- 
 though she good-naturedly made use of my 
 money. I was for her, as she expressed it in 
 her broken French jargon, " oun Rousso buon 
 enfan" — and nothing more. But I .... I 
 could no longer live anywhere where she was not ; 
 I tore myself at one wrench from all that was 
 dear to me, from my native land itself, and set out 
 in pursuit of that woman. 
 
 163
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 Perhaps you think that she was clever?— Not 
 in the least! It sufficed to cast a glance at her 
 low brow, it sufficed to note, if only once, her lazy, 
 heedless smile, in order instantly to convince one's 
 self as to the paucity of her mental abilities. And 
 I never imagined her to be a remarkable woman. 
 On the whole, I did not deceive myself for a sin- 
 gle minute on her score. But that did not help 
 matters in the least. Whatever I thought of her 
 in her absence, in her presence I felt nothing but 
 servile adoration. ... In the German fairy- 
 tales the knights often fall into that sort of 
 stupor. I could not tear my eyes from her fea- 
 tures ; I could not hear enough of her remarks, or 
 sufficiently watch every movement of hers; to 
 tell the truth, I actually breathed to her breath- 
 ing. However, she was good-natured, uncon- 
 strained — too unconstrained even; she did not 
 put on airs, as the majority of artists do. She 
 had a great deal of life, that is, a great deal of 
 blood, of that splendid Southern blood, into which 
 the sun of their land must have dropped a portion 
 of his rays. She slept nine hours a day, was fond 
 of good eating, never read a single line of print, 
 unless, perhaps, the articles in the newspapers in 
 which she was mentioned, and almost the sole 
 tender sentiment in her life was her attachment 
 to il signore Carlino, a small and greedy Italian 
 who served as her secretary and w;hom she after- 
 ward married. And with such a woman as this I, 
 
 164
 
 A COREESPONDENCE 
 
 who have tasted so many varied intellectual sub- 
 tleties, I, already an old man, could fall in love! 
 Who could have expected it? I never expected 
 it, at all events. I did not anticipate the part 
 which I should be compelled to play. I did not 
 expect that I should haunt rehearsals, freeze and 
 get bored behind the scenes, inhale the reek of the 
 theatre, make acquaintance with various un- 
 seemly individuals .... what am I saying?— 
 make acquaintance— bow to them. I had not ex- 
 pected that I should carry a dancer's shawl, buy 
 'new gloves for her, clean her old ones with white 
 bread (but I did it, I take my oath!) , cart home 
 her bouquets, run about to the anterooms of jour- 
 nalists and directors, wear myself out, give sere- 
 nades, catch cold, lose my strength. ... I had 
 not expected that I should acquire at last in a 
 certain little German town the ingenious nick- 
 name of " der Kunst-barbar.'' . . . And all this 
 in vain — in the fullest sense of the word, in 
 vain! There, that is precisely the state of the 
 
 Do you remember how you and I, orally and 
 by letter, argued about love, into what subtleties 
 we entered? And when it is put to the proof, it 
 turns out that real love is a feeling not at all re- 
 sembling that which we imagined it to be. Love 
 is not even a feeling at all ; it is a malady, a well- 
 known condition of the soul and body. It does 
 not develop gradually; there is no possibility of 
 
 165
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 doubting it ; one cannot dodge it, although it does 
 not always manifest itself in identically the same 
 fashion. It generally takes possession of a man 
 without being invited, suddenly, against his will 
 — precisely like the cholera or a fever. ... It 
 lays hold upon him, the dear creature, as a hawk 
 does upon a chicken; and it will bear him off 
 whithersoever it wishes, struggle and resist as he 
 may. ... In love there is no equality, no so- 
 called free union of souls and other ideal things, 
 invented at their leisure by German professors. 
 . . . No ; in love one person is the slave, the other 
 is the sovereign, and not without cause do the 
 poets prate of the chains imposed by love. Yes, 
 love is a chain, and the heaviest of chains at that. 
 At all events, I have arrived at that conviction, 
 and have reached it by the path of experience. I 
 have purchased that conviction at the price of 
 my life, because I am dying a slave. 
 
 Alack, what a fate is mine! one thinks. In 
 my youth I was resolutely determined to conquer 
 heaven for myself. . . . Later on, I fell to 
 dreaming about the welfare of all mankind, the 
 prosperity of my fatherland. Then that passed 
 off: I thought only of how I might arrange my 
 domestic, my family life .... and I tripped 
 over an ant-hill— and flop! I went headlong on 
 the ground, and into the grave. . . . What mas- 
 ter hands we Russians are at winding up in that 
 fashion ! 
 
 166
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 However, it is high time for me to turn away 
 from all this,— it was time long ago! May this 
 burden fall from my soul along with my life ! I 
 wish for the last time, if only for a moment, to 
 enjoy that good, gentle feeling which is diffused 
 within me like a tranquil hght as soon as I call 
 you to mind. Your image is now doubly dear to 
 me. . . . Along with it there surges up before 
 me the image of my native land, and I waft to it 
 and to you my last greeting. Live on, live long 
 and happily, and remember one thing: whether 
 you remain in that remote nook of the steppes, 
 where you sometimes find things so painful, but 
 where I should so like to spend my last day, or 
 whether you shall enter upon another career, 
 remember : life fails to disappoint him alone who 
 does not meditate upon it, and, demanding no- 
 thing from it, calmly accepts its sparse gifts, and 
 calmly makes use of them. Go forward, while 
 you can: but when your feet fail you, — sit down 
 near the road, and gaze at the passers-by without 
 vexation and without envy: for they will not go 
 far! I have said this to you before, but death 
 will teach any man whomsoever; moreover, who 
 shall say what is life, what is truth? Remember 
 who it was that gave no answer to this question. 
 . . . Farewell, IVIarya Alexandrovna ; farewell for 
 the last time, and bear no ill will to poor— 
 
 Alexyei. 
 
 167
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 (1854)
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 IN a fairly-large recently-whitewashed cham- 
 ber of a wing of the manor-house in the 
 village of* Sasovo, *** county, T*** Govern- 
 ment, a young man in a paletot was sitting at a 
 small, warped table, looking over accounts. Two 
 stearine candles, in silver travelling-candlesticks, 
 were burning in front of him; in one corner, on 
 the wall-bench, stood an open bottle-case, in an- 
 other a servant was setting up an iron bed. On 
 the other side of a low partition a samovar was 
 murmuring and hissing ; a dog was nestling about 
 on some hay which had just been brought in. In 
 the doorway stood a peasant -man in a new over- 
 coat girt with a red belt, with a large beard, and 
 an intelligent face — the overseer, judging by all 
 the tokens. He was gazing attentively at the 
 seated young man. 
 
 Against one wall stood a very aged, tiny 
 piano; beside it an equally-ancient chest of 
 drawers with holes in place of the locks ; between 
 the windows a small, dim mirror was visible; 
 on the partition -wall hung an old portrait, which 
 
 171
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 was almost completely peeled off, representing 
 a woman with powdered hair, in a rohe ronde, and 
 with a black ribbon about her slender neck. Judg- 
 ing from the very perceptible sagging of the 
 ceiling, and the slope of the floor, which was 
 full of cracks, the little wing into which we have 
 conducted the reader had existed for a very long 
 time. No one lived in it permanently ; it was put 
 to use when the owners came. The young man 
 who was sitting at the table was the owner of 
 the village of Sasovo. He had arrived only on 
 the previous day from his principal estate, situ- 
 ated a hundred versts ^ distant, and was prepar- 
 ing to depart on the morrow, after completing 
 the inspection of the farming, listening to the 
 demands of the peasants, and verifying all the 
 documents. 
 
 " Well, that will do,"— he said, raising his 
 head;—" I am tired. Thou mayest go now," — 
 he added, turning to the overseer; — "and come 
 very early to-morrow morning, and notify the 
 peasants at daybreak that they are to present 
 themselves in assembly, — dost hear me? " 
 
 " I obey." 
 
 " And order the estate-clerk to present to me 
 the report for the last month. But thou hast 
 done well," — the gentleman went on, casting a 
 glance around him,—" in whitewashing the walls. 
 Everything seems cleaner." 
 
 ^ A verst is two thirds of a mile.— Translator. 
 
 172
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 The overseer silently swept a glance around 
 the walls also. 
 
 " Well, go now." 
 
 The overseer made his obeisance and left the 
 room. 
 
 The gentleman stretched himself. 
 
 "Hey!"— he shouted.— " Give me some tea! 
 .... 'T is time to go to bed." 
 
 His servant went to the other side of the par- 
 tition, and speedily returned with a glass of tea, 
 a bundle of town cracknels, and a cream- jug on 
 an iron tray. The gentleman began to drink tea, 
 but before he had had time to swallow two mouth- 
 fuls, the noise of persons entering resounded 
 from an adjoining room, and some one's squeak- 
 ing voice inquired: 
 
 " Is Vladimir Sergyeitch Astakhoff at home? 
 Can he be seen? " 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch (that was the name of the 
 young man in the paletot) cast a glance of sur- 
 prise at his man, and said in a hurried whisper: 
 
 " Go, find out who it is." 
 
 The man withdrew, slamming behind him the 
 door, which closed badly. 
 
 *' Announce to Vladimir Sergyeitch," — rang 
 out the same squeaking voice as before,— "that 
 his neighbour IpatofF wishes to see him, if it 
 will not incommode him; and another neighbour 
 has come with me, BodryakofF, Ivan IHtch, who 
 also desires to pay his respects." 
 
 173
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch made an involuntary ges- 
 ture of vexation. Nevertheless, when his man 
 entered the room, he said to him : 
 
 " Ask them in." And he arose to receive his 
 visitors. 
 
 The door opened, and the visitors made their 
 appearance. One of them, a robust, grey-haired 
 little old man, with a small, round head and 
 bright little eyes, walked in advance; the other, 
 a tall, thin man of three-and-thirty, with a long, 
 swarthy face and dishevelled hair, walked behind, 
 with a shambling gait. The old man wore a neat 
 grey coat with large, mother-of-pearl buttons; 
 a small, pink neckerchief, half concealed by the 
 rolling collar of his white shirt, loosely encircled 
 his neck; his feet shone resplendent in gaiters; 
 the plaids of his Scotch trousers were agreeably 
 gay in hue ; and, altogether, he produced a pleas- 
 ant impression. His companion, on the contrary, 
 evoked in the spectator a less favourable sensa- 
 tion : he wore an old black dress-coat, buttoned up 
 to the throat; his full trousers, of thick, winter 
 tricot, matched his coat in colour; no linen was 
 visible, either around his throat or around his 
 wrists. The little old man was the first to ap- 
 proach Vladimir Sergyeitch, and, with an amia- 
 ble inclination of the head, he began in the same 
 shrill little voice: 
 
 " I have the honour to introduce myself,— 
 your nearest neighbour, and even a relative, 
 
 174
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 IpatoiF, Mikhailo Nikolaitch. I have long wished 
 to have the pleasure of making your acquain- 
 tance. I hope that I have not disturbed you." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch replied that he was very 
 glad to see him, and that he was not disturbed 
 in the least, and would not he take a seat .... 
 and drink tea. 
 
 " And this nobleman,"— went on the little old 
 man, after listening with a courteous smile to 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch's unfinished phrases, and 
 extending his hand in the direction of the gentle- 
 man in the dress-coat, — "also your neighbour 
 .... and my good acquaintance, Ivan Ilitch, 
 strongly desired to make your acquaintance." 
 
 The gentleman in the dress-coat, from whose 
 countenance no one would have suspected that 
 he was capable of desiring anything strongly 
 in his life— so preoccupied and, at the same time, 
 so sleepy was the expression of that countenance, 
 — the gentleman in the dress-coat bowed clum- 
 sily and languidly. Vladimir Sergyeitch bowed 
 to him in return, and again invited the visitors to 
 be seated. 
 
 The visitors sat down. 
 
 " I am very glad,"— began the little old man, 
 pleasantly throwing apart his hands, while his 
 companion set to scrutinising the ceiling, with 
 his mouth slightly open:—" I am very glad that 
 I have, at last, the honour of seeing you person- 
 ally. Although you have your permanent resi- 
 
 175
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 dence in a county which lies at a. considerable 
 distance from these localities, still, we regard you 
 also as one of our own primordial landed pro- 
 prietors, so to speak.'* 
 
 " That is very flattering to me,"— returned 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Flattering or not, it is a fact. You must 
 excuse us, Vladimir Sergyeitch; we people here 
 in *** county are a straightforward folk ; we live 
 in our simplicity; we say what we think, without 
 circumlocution. It is our custom, I must tell 
 you, not to call upon each other on Name-days ^ 
 otherwise than in our frock-coats. Truly I We 
 have made that the rule. On that account, we 
 are celled ' frock-coaters ' in the adjoining coun- 
 ties, and we are even reproached for our bad 
 style; ))jt we pay no attention to that! Pray, 
 what is t''^ Use of living in the country — and then 
 standing on ceremony? " 
 
 " Of course, what can be better .... in the 
 country .... than that naturalness of inter- 
 course," — remarked Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " And yet,"— replied the little old man,— 
 " among us in our county dwell people of the 
 cleverest sort,— one may say people of European 
 culture, although they do not wear dress-suits. 
 
 1 The Name-day— that is, the day of the saint after whom a person 
 is named— is observed with feasting and congratulation, instead of 
 the birthday. For ceremonious calls, no matter at what hour of the 
 day, a man who has no official uniform must wear his evening suit, 
 on penalty of being considered ignorant or rude, or (in official circles) 
 of being refused admittanc.— Translator. 
 
 176
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Take, for example, our historian EvsiukoiF, 
 Stepan Stepanitch: he is interesting himself in 
 Russian history from the most ancient times, and 
 is known in Petersburg— an extremely learned 
 man! There is in our town an ancient Swedish 
 cannon-ball .... 't is placed yonder, in the cen- 
 tre of the public square . . . and 't was he who 
 discovered it, you know! Certainly! Tzenteler, 
 Anton Karlitch .... now he has studied nat- 
 ural history; but they say all Germans are suc- 
 cessful in that line. When, ten years ago, a stray 
 hyena was killed in our vicinity, it was this Anton 
 Karlitch who discovered that it really was a hy- 
 ena, by cause of the peculiar construction of its 
 tail. And then, we have a landed proprietor Ka- 
 burdin: he chiefly writes light articles; he wields 
 a very dashing pen ; his articles appear in ' Gala- 
 tea.' BodryakofF, .... not Ivan Ilitch; no, 
 Ivan Ilitch neglects that; but another Bodrya- 
 koff, Sergyei .... what the deuce was his fa- 
 ther's baptismal name, Ivan Ilitch .... what 
 the deuce was it? " 
 
 " Sergyeitch,"— prompted Ivan Ilitch. 
 
 "Yes; Sergyei Sergyeitch, — he busies himself 
 with writing verses. Well, of course he 's not a 
 Pushkin, but sometimes he gets off things which 
 would pass muster even in the capitals. Do you 
 know his epigram on Agei Fomitch ? " 
 
 "What Agei Fomitch?" 
 
 ** Akh, pardon me ; I keep forgetting that you 
 
 177
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 are not a resident here, after all. He is our chief 
 of police. The epigram is extremely amusing. 
 Thou rememberest it, I believe, Ivan Ilitch? " 
 
 " Agei Fomitch,"— said Bodryakoff, indiffer- 
 ently— 
 
 (( 
 
 . . . . not without cause is gloriously 
 By the nobles' election honoured . . . 
 
 " I must tell you,"— broke in Ipatoff,— " that 
 he was elected almost exclusively by white balls, 
 for he is a most worthy man." 
 
 " Agei Fomitch,"— repeated Bodryakoff, 
 
 (( 
 
 . . not without cause is gloriously 
 By the nobles' election honoured: 
 He drinks and eats regularly .... 
 So why should not he be the regulator of order,? ''^ 
 
 The little old man burst out laughing. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha! that is n't bad, is it? Ever since 
 then, if you '11 believe me, each one of us will 
 say, for instance, to Agei Fomitch:' Good morn- 
 ing I '—and will invariably add: ' so why should 
 not he be the regulator of order? ' And does 
 Agei Fomitch get angry, think you? Not in the 
 least. No— that 's not our way. Just ask Ivan 
 Ilitch here if it is." 
 
 Ivan Ilitch merely rolled up his eyes. 
 
 " Get angry at a jest— how is that possible? 
 
 *A pun is intended I isprdvno, regularly , in orderly manner; 
 ispravnikf the chief of police in a rural district.— translator. 
 
 178
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Now, take Ivan Hitch there ; his nickname among 
 us is ' The Folding Soul,' because he agrees to 
 everything very promptly. What then? Does 
 Ivan Ilitch take offence at that? Never! " 
 
 Ivan Ilitch, slowly blinking his eyes, looked 
 first at the little old man, then at Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch. 
 
 The epithet, '' The Folding Soul," really did 
 fit Ivan Ilitch admirably. There was not a trace 
 in him of what is called will or character. Any 
 one who wished could lead him whithersoever he 
 would; all that was necessary was to say to him: 
 " Come on, Ivan Ilitch! " — and he picked up his 
 cap and went; but if another person turned up, 
 and said to him: " Halt, Ivan Ilitch! " — he laid 
 down his cap and remained. He was of a peace- 
 able, tranquil disposition, had lived a bachelor- 
 life, did not play cards, but was fond of sitting 
 beside the players and looking into each of their 
 faces in turn. Without society he could not exist, 
 and solitude he could not endure. At such times 
 he became despondent; however, this happened 
 very rarely with him. He had another peculiar- 
 ity: rising from his bed betimes in the morning, 
 he would sing in an undertone an old romance: 
 
 **In the country once a Baron 
 Dwelt in simplicity rural. . . ." 
 
 In consequence of this peculiarity of Ivan 
 ilitch's, he was also called " The Hawfinch," be- 
 
 179
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 cause, as is well known, the hawfinch when in cap- 
 tivity sings only once in the course of the day, 
 early in the morning. Such was Ivan Hitch Bo- 
 dryakoff. 
 
 The conversation between IpatofF and Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch lasted for quite a long time, but 
 not in its original, so to speak, speculative direc- 
 tion. The little old man questioned Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch about his estate, the condition of his 
 forests and other sorts of land, the improvements 
 which he had already introduced or was only 
 intending to introduce in his farming; he im- 
 parted to him several of his own observations ; ad- 
 vised him, among other things, in order to get rid 
 of hummocky pastures, to sprinkle them with 
 oats, which, he said, would induce the pigs to 
 plough them up with their snouts, and so forth. 
 But, at last, perceiving that Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 was so sleepy that he could hardly keep his eyes 
 open, and that a certain deliberation and inco- 
 herence were making themselves evident in his 
 speech, the little old man rose, and, with a courte- 
 ous obeisance, declared that he would not in- 
 commode him any longer with his presence, but 
 that he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing the 
 valued guest at his own house not later than the 
 following day, at dinner. 
 
 " And the first person you meet, not to men- 
 tion any small child, but, so to speak, any hen 
 or peasant- woman,"— he added,—*' will point 
 
 180
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 out to you the road to my village. All you have 
 to do is to ask for Ipatoff . The horses will trot 
 there of themselves." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch replied with a little hesi- 
 tation — which, however, was natural to him— 
 that he would try . . . that if nothing pre- 
 vented .... 
 
 " Yes, we shall certainly expect you,"— the 
 little old man interrupted him, cordially, shook 
 his hand warmly, and briskly withdrew, exclaim- 
 ing in the doorway, as he half turned round: — 
 " Without ceremony ! " 
 
 " Folding Soul " BodryakofF bowed in silence 
 and vanished in the wake of his companion, with 
 a preliminary stumble on the threshold. 
 
 Having seen his unexpected guests off, Vladi- 
 mir Sergj^eitch immediately undressed, got into 
 bed, and went to sleep. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch Astakhoff belonged to 
 the category of people who, after having cau- 
 tiously tested their powers in two or three dif- 
 ferent careers, are wont to say of themselves 
 that they have finally come to the conclusion to 
 look at life from a practical point of view, and 
 who devote their leisure to augmenting their 
 revenues. He was not stupid, was rather penu- 
 rious, and very sensible; was fond of reading, of 
 society, of music — but all in moderation .... 
 and bore himself very decorously. He was 
 twenty-seven years old. A great many young 
 
 181
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 men of his sort have sprung up recently. He was 
 of medium height, well built, and had agreeable 
 though small features; their expression almost 
 never varied; his eyes always gleamed with one 
 and the same stern, bright glance ; only now and 
 then did this glance soften with a faint shade of 
 something which was not precisely sadness, nor 
 yet precisely boredom; a courteous smile rarely 
 quitted his lips. He had very handsome, fair hair, 
 silky, and falling in long ringlets. Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch owned about six hundred souls ^ on a 
 good estate, and he was thinking of marriage — a 
 marriage of inclination, but which should, at the 
 same time, be advantageous. He was particu- 
 larly desirous of finding a wife with powerful 
 connections. In a word, he merited the appella- 
 tion of " gentleman " which had recently come 
 into vogue. 
 
 When he rose on the following morning, very 
 early, according to his wont, our gentleman oc- 
 cupied himself with business, and, we must do 
 him the justice to say, did so in a decidedly prac- 
 tical manner, wliich cannot always be said of 
 practical young men among us in Russia. He 
 patiently listened to the confused petitions and 
 complaints of the peasants, gave them satisfac- 
 tion so far as he was able, investigated the quar- 
 rels and dissensions which had arisen between 
 
 1 Male serfs. The women and children did not figure on the 
 revision lists.— Translator. 
 
 182 
 
 K.
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 relatives, exhorted some, scolded others, audited 
 the clerk's accounts, brought to light two or three 
 rascalities on the part of the overseer— in a word, 
 handled matters in such wise that he was very 
 well satisfied with himself, and the peasants, as 
 they returned from the assembly to their homes, 
 spoke well of him. 
 
 In spite of his promise given on the preceding 
 evening to IpatofF, Vladimir Sergyeitch had 
 made up his mind to dine at home, and had even 
 ordered his travelling-cook to prepare his favour- 
 ite rice-soup with pluck ; but all of a sudden, pos- 
 sibly in consequence of that feeling of satisfac- 
 tion which had filled his soul ever since the early 
 morning, he stopped short in the middle of the 
 room, smote himself on the brow with his hand, 
 and, not without some spirit, exclaimed aloud: 
 " I believe I '11 go to that flowery old babbler ! " 
 No sooner said than done; half an hour later he 
 was sitting in his new tarantas, drawn by four 
 stout peasant-horses, and driving to Ipatoff's 
 house, which was reckoned to be not more than 
 twenty-five versts distant by a capital road. 
 
 II 
 
 MiKHAiLO NiKOLAEViTCH Ipatoff's manop 
 consisted of two separate small mansions, built 
 opposite each other on the two sides of a huge 
 pond through which ran a river. A long dam, 
 
 183
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 planted with silver poplars, shut off the pond ; al- 
 most on a level with it the red roof of a small 
 hand-mill was visible. Built exactly alike, and 
 painted with the same lilac hue, the tiny houses 
 seemed to be exchanging glances across the broad, 
 watery expanse, with the glittering panes of their 
 small, clean windows. From the middle of each 
 little house a circular terrace projected, and a 
 sharp-peaked pediment rose aloft, supported by 
 four white pillars set close together. The an- 
 cient park ran all the way round the pond; lin- 
 dens stretched out in alleys, and stood in dense 
 clumps; aged pine-trees, with pale yellow boles, 
 dark oaks, magnificent maples here and there 
 reared high in air their solitary crests; the dense 
 verdure of the thickly-spreading lilacs and aca- 
 cias advanced close up to the very sides of the two 
 little houses, leaving revealed only their fronts, 
 from which winding paths paved with brick ran 
 down the slope. Motley-hued ducks, white and 
 grey geese were swimming in separate flocks on 
 the clear water of the pond ; it never became cov- 
 ered with scum, thanks to abundant springs 
 which welled into its " head " from the base of the 
 steep, rocky ravine. The situation of the manor 
 was good, pleasant, isolated, and beautiful. 
 
 In one of the two little houses dwelt Mikhail 
 Nikolaevitch himself; in the other lived his 
 mother, a decrepit old woman of seventy years. 
 When he drove on to the dam, Vladimir Ser- 
 
 184
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 gyeitch did not know to which house to betake 
 himself. He glanced about him: a small urchin 
 of the house-serfs was fishing, as he stood bare- 
 footed on a half -rotten tree-stump. Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch hailed him. 
 
 " But to whom are you going— to the old lady 
 or to the young master? "—replied the urchin, 
 without taking his eyes from his float. 
 
 " What lady? "—replied Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 -" I want to find Mikhaflo Nikolaitch." 
 
 " Ah! the young master? Well, then, turn to 
 the right." 
 
 And the lad gave his line a jerk, and drew 
 from the motionless water a small, silvery carp. 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch drove to the right. 
 
 Mikhail Nikolaitch was playing at draughts 
 with The Folding Soul when the arrival of Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch was announced to him. He was 
 delighted, sprang from his arm-chair, ran out 
 into the anteroom and there kissed the visitor 
 three times. 
 
 " You find me with my invariable friend, Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch,"— began the loquacious little 
 old man:—" with Ivan llitch, who, I will remark 
 in passing, is completely enchanted with your 
 aflTability." {Ivan Hitch darted a silent glance 
 at the corner.) " He was so kind as to remain 
 to play draughts with me, while all my household 
 went for a stroll in the park ; but I will send for 
 them at once. . . ." 
 
 185
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " But why disturb them? "—Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch tried to expostulate. . . . 
 
 " Not the least inconvenience, I assure you. 
 Hey, there, Vanka, run for the young ladies as 
 fast as thou canst . . . tell them that a guest has 
 favoured us with a visit. And how does this 
 locality please you? It 's not bad, is it? Ka- 
 burdin has composed some verses about it. ' Ipa- 
 tovka, refuge lovely '—that 's the way they begin, 
 — and the rest of it is just as good, only I don't 
 remember all of it. The park is large, that 's the 
 trouble; beyond my means. And these two 
 houses, which are so much alike, as you have, 
 perhaps, deigned to observe, were erected by two 
 brothers — my father Nikolai, and my uncle Ser- 
 gyei ; they also laid out the park ; they were exem- 
 plary friends .... Damon and .... there 
 now ! I 've forgotten the other man's name. . . ." 
 
 " Pythion,"— remarked Ivan Ilitch. 
 
 " Not really? Well, never mind." (At home 
 the old man talked in a much more unconven- 
 tional manner than when he was paying calls. ) — 
 " You are, probably, not ignorant of the fact, 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch, that I am a widower, that 
 I have lost my wife; my elder children are in 
 government educational institutions,^ and I have 
 with me only the youngest two, and my sister-in- 
 law lives with me— my wife's sister; you will see 
 
 1 Of different grades (civil and military), for the children of the 
 nobility or gentry. They are not charities. — Translatob. 
 
 186
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 her directly. But why don't I offer you some 
 refreshment? Ivan llitch, my dear fellow, see 
 to a little luncheon .... what sort of vodka 
 are you pleased to prefer? " 
 
 " I drink nothing until dinner." 
 
 "Goodness, how is that possible! However, 
 as you please. The truest hospitality is to let 
 the guest do as he likes. We are very simple- 
 mannered folk here, you see. Here with us, if 
 I may venture so to express myself, we live not 
 so much in a lonely as in a dead-calm place, a 
 remote nook — that 's what! But why don't you 
 sit down? " 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch seated himself, without 
 letting go of his hat. 
 
 " Permit me to relieve you," — said Ipatoff, 
 and delicately taking his hat from him, he car- 
 ried it off to a corner, then returned, looked his 
 visitor in the eye with a cordial smile, and, not 
 knowing just what agreeable thing to say to him, 
 inquired, in the most hearty manner,— whether he 
 was fond of playing draughts. 
 
 " I play all games badly,"— replied Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch. 
 
 " And that 's a very fine thing in you,"— re- 
 turned Ipatoff:— "but draughts is not a game, 
 but rather a diversion— a way of passing leisure 
 time; is n't that so, Ivan llitch? " 
 
 Ivan tlitch cast an indifferent glance at Ipa- 
 toff, as though he were thinking to himself, 
 
 187
 
 <( 
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " The devil only knows whether it is a game or 
 a diversion," but, after waiting a while, he said: 
 Yes; draughts don't count." 
 Chess is quite another matter, they say," — 
 pursued Ipatoff ;— " 't is a very difficult game, 
 I 'm told. But, in my opinion .... but yonder 
 come my people!" — he interrupted himself, 
 glancing through the half -open glass door, which 
 gave upon the park. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch rose, turned round, and 
 beheld first two little girls, about ten years of age, 
 in pink cotton frocks and broad-brimmed hats, 
 who were running alertly up the steps of the 
 terrace; not far behind them a tall, plump, well- 
 built young girl of twenty, in a dark gown, made 
 her appearance. They all entered the house, and 
 the little girls coui'tesied sedately to the visitor. 
 
 " Here, sir, let me present you,"— said the host; 
 — " my daughters, sir. This one here is named 
 Katya, and this one is Nastya, and this is my 
 sister-in-law, Marya Pavlovna, whom I have al- 
 ready had the pleasure of mentioning to you. I 
 beg that you will love and favour them." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch made his bow to Marya 
 Pavlovna; she replied to him with a barely per- 
 ceptible inclination of the head. 
 
 Marya Pavlovna held in her hand a large, open 
 knife; her thick, ruddy-blond hair was slightly 
 dishevelled,— a small green leaf had got en- 
 tangled in it, her braids had escaped from the 
 
 188
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 comb,— her dark-skinned face was flushed, and 
 her red lips were parted ; her gown looked crum- 
 pled. She was breathing fast; her eyes were 
 sparkling ; it was evident that she had been work- 
 ing in the garden. She immediately left the 
 room ; the little girls ran out after her. 
 
 " She 's going to rearrange her toilet a bit," — 
 remarked the old man, turning to Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch; — "they can't get along without that, 
 sir!" 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch grinned at him in re- 
 sponse, and became somewhat pensive. Marya 
 Pavlovna had made an impression on him. It was 
 long since he had seen such a purely Russian 
 beauty of the steppes. She speedily returned, 
 sat down on the divan, and remained motionless. 
 She had smoothed her hair, but had not changed 
 her gown, — had not even put on cuffs. Her fea- 
 tures expressed not precisely pride, but rather 
 austerity, almost harshness; her brow was broad 
 and low, her nose short and straight ; a slow, lazy 
 smile curled her lips from time to time; her 
 straight eyebrows contracted scornfully. She 
 kept her large, dark eyes almost constantly low- 
 ered. ** I know," her repellent young face seemed 
 to be saying; " I know that you are all looking 
 at me; well, then, look; you bore me." But 
 when she raised her eyes, there was something 
 wild, beautiful, and stolid about them, which was 
 suggestive of the eyes of a doe. She had a mag- 
 
 189
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 nificent figure. A classical poet would have com- 
 pared her to Ceres or Juno. 
 
 " What have you been doing in the garden? " 
 — IpatofF asked her, being desirous of bringing 
 her into the conversation. 
 
 " I have been cutting off dead branches, and 
 digging up the flower-beds," she replied, in a 
 voice which was rather low, but agreeable and 
 resonant. 
 
 " And are you tired? " 
 
 " The children are ; I am not." 
 
 " I know," — interposed the old man, with a 
 smile;—" thou art a regular Bobelina! And have 
 you been to grandmamma's? " 
 
 " Yes; she is asleep." 
 
 "Are you fond of flowers?" — Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch asked her. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Why dost thou not put on thy hat when thou 
 goest out of doors? " — IpatofF remarked to her. 
 — " Just see how red and sunburned thou art." 
 
 She silently passed her hand over her face. 
 Her hands were not large, but rather broad, and 
 decidedly red. She did not wear gloves. 
 
 " And are you fond of gardening? " — Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch put another question to her. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch began to narrate what a 
 fine garden there was in his neighbourhood, be- 
 longing to a wealthy landed proprietor named 
 
 190
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 N***. — The head gardener, a German, received 
 in wages alone two thousand rubles, silver^ — he 
 said, among other things. 
 
 " And what is the name of that gardener? " — 
 inquired Ivan Ilitch, suddenly. 
 
 " I don't remember,— Meyer or Miiller, I 
 think. But why do you ask? " 
 
 " For no reason in particular, sir,"— replied 
 Ivan Ilitch. — " To find out his name." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch continued his narration. 
 The little girls, Mikhail Nikolaitch's daughters, 
 entered, sat down quietly, and quietly began to 
 listen. . . . 
 
 A servant made his appearance at the door, 
 
 had announced that Egor Kapitonitch had ar- 
 rived. 
 
 " Ah! Ask him in, ask him in! "—exclaimed 
 Ipatoff. 
 
 There entered a short, fat little old man, one 
 of the sort of people who are called squat or 
 dumpy, with a puffy and, at the same time, a 
 wrinkled little face, after the fashion of a baked 
 apple. He wore a grey hussar jacket with black 
 braiding and a standing collar; his full coffee- 
 coloured velveteen trousers ended far above his 
 ankles. 
 
 " Good morning, my most respected Egor 
 Kapitonitch,"— exclaimed Ipatoff, advancing to 
 
 * In those days there was a great difference in the value of silver and 
 paper money hence the kind is usually specified.— Translator. 
 
 191
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 meet him. — " We have n't seen each other for a 
 long time." 
 
 " Could n't be helped," — returned Egor Kapi- 
 tonitch in a lisping and whining voice, after hav- 
 ing preliminarily exchanged salutations with all 
 present;— " surely you know, Mikhail Sergye- 
 itch, whether I am a free man or not? " 
 
 " And how are you not a free man, Egor Kapi- 
 tonitch?" 
 
 " Why, of course I 'm not, Mikhail Nikola- 
 itch; there 's my family, my affairs. . . . And 
 there 's Matryona Markovna to boot," and he 
 waved his hand in despair. 
 
 " But what about Matryona Markovna? " 
 
 And IpatofF launched a slight wink at Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch, as though desirous of exciting 
 his interest in advance. 
 
 " Why, everybody knows," — returned Egor 
 Kapitonitch, as he took a seat; — " she 's always 
 discontented with me, don't you know that? 
 Whatever I say, it 's wrong, not delicate, not 
 decorous. And why it is n't decorous, the Lord 
 God alone knows. And the young ladies, my 
 daughters that is to say, do the same, taking pat- 
 tern by their mother. I don't say but what Ma- 
 tryona Markovna is a very fine woman, but she 's 
 awfully severe on the score of manners." 
 
 " But, good gracious! in what way are your 
 manners bad, Egor Kapitonitch? " 
 
 " That 's exactly what I 'd like to know myself; 
 
 192
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 but, evidently, she 's hard to suit. Yesterday, 
 for instance, I said at table : ' Matryona Mar- 
 kovna,' " (and Egor Kapitonitch imparted to 
 his voice an insinuating inflection,—" ' Matryona 
 Markovna,' says I, ' what 's the meaning of this, 
 — that Aldoshka is n't careful with the horses, 
 does n't know how to drive? ' says I; ' there 's the 
 black stallion quite foundered.'— I-iikh! how Ma- 
 tryona Markovna did flare up, and set to crying 
 shame on me : ' Thou dost not know how to ex- 
 press thyself decently in the society of ladies,' 
 says she ; and the young ladies instantly galloped 
 away from the table, and on the next day, the 
 Biriiilofl" young ladies, my wife's nieces, had 
 heard all about it. And how had I expressed my- 
 self badly? And no matter what I say— and 
 sometimes I really am incautious,— no matter to 
 whom I say it, especially at home,— those Biriu- 
 loff* girls know all about it the next day. A fel- 
 low simply does n't know what to do. Sometimes 
 I 'm just sitting so, thinking after my fashion, 
 — I breathe hard, as perhaps you know, — and 
 Matryona Markovna sets to berating me again: 
 * Don't snore,' says she; 'nobody snores nowa- 
 days!' — 'What art thou scolding about, Ma- 
 tryona Markovna? ' says I. ' Good mercy, thou 
 shouldst have compassion, but thou scoldest.' 
 So I don't meditate at home any more. I sit 
 and look down— so— all the time. By Heaven, I 
 do. And then, again, not long ago, we got into 
 
 193
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 bed; ' Matryona Markovna,' says I, ' what makes 
 thee spoil thy page-boy, matushka?^ Why, he 's a 
 regular little pig,' says I, ' and he might wash his 
 face of a Sunday, at least.' And what happened ? 
 It strikes me that I said it distantly, tenderly, but 
 I did n't hit the mark even then ; Matryona Mar- 
 kovna began to cry shame on me again : ' Thou 
 dost not understand how to behave in the society 
 of ladies,' says she; and the next day the Biriu- 
 lofF girls knew all about it. What time have I 
 to think of visits under such circumstances, Mi- 
 khail Nikolaitch ? " 
 
 " I 'm amazed at what you tell me," — replied 
 Ipatoff ;— " I did not expect that from Matryona 
 Markovna. Apparently, she is . . . ." 
 
 " An extremely fine woman,"— put in Egor 
 Kapitonitch;— " a model wife and mother, so to 
 speak, only strict on the score of manners. She 
 says that ensemble is necessary in everything, and 
 that I have n't got it. I don't speak French, as 
 you are aware, I only understand it. But what 's 
 that ensemble that I have n't got? " 
 
 Ipatoif, who was not very strong in French 
 himself, only shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " And how are your children — your sons, that 
 is to say? "—he asked Egor Kapitonitch after a 
 brief pause. 
 
 Egor Kapitonitch darted an oblique glance at 
 him. 
 
 1 Literally, "dear little mother.*'— Translator. 
 
 194
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " My sons are all right. I 'm satisfied with 
 them. The girls have got out of hand, but I 'm 
 satisfied with my sons. Lyolya discharges his ser- 
 vice well, his superior officers approve of him; 
 that Lyolya of mine is a clever fellow. Well, 
 Mikhetz — he 's not like that; he has turned out 
 some sort of a philanthropist." 
 
 " Why a philanthropist? " 
 
 " The Lord knows ; he speaks to nobody, he 
 shuns folks. Matryona Markovna mostly 
 abashes him. ' Why dost thou take pattern by 
 thy father? ' she saj^s to him. ' Do thou respect 
 him, but copy thy mother as to manners.' He '11 
 get straightened out, he '11 turn out all right 
 also." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch asked Ipatoff to intro- 
 duce him to Egor Kapitonitch. They entered 
 into conversation. IMarya Pavlovna did not take 
 part in it; Ivan Ilitch seated himself beside her, 
 and said two words, in all, to her; the little girls 
 came up to him, and began to narrate something 
 to him in a whisper. . . . The housekeeper en- 
 tered, a gaunt old woman, with her head bound 
 up in a dark kerchief, and announced that dinner 
 was ready. All wended their way to the dining- 
 room. 
 
 The dinner lasted for quite a long time. Ipa- 
 toiF kept a good cook, and ordered pretty good 
 wines, not from Moscow, but from the capital 
 of the government. IpatofF lived at his ease, as 
 
 195
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 the saying goes. He did not own more than three 
 hundred souls, but he was not in debt to any- 
 one, and had brought his estate into order. At 
 table, the host himself did the greater part of 
 the talking ; Egor Kapitonitch chimed in, but did 
 not forget himself, at the same time; he ate and 
 drank gloriously. Marya Pavlovna preserved 
 unbroken silence, only now and then replying 
 with half -smiles to the hurried remarks of the 
 two little girls, who sat one on each side of her. 
 They were, evidently, very fond of her. Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch made several attempts to enter into 
 conversation with her, but without particular suc- 
 cess. Folding Soul BodryakoiF even ate indo- 
 lently and languidly. After dinner all went out 
 on the terrace to drink coffee. The weather was 
 magnificent; from the garden was wafted the 
 sweet perfume of the lindens, which were then in 
 full flower ; the summer air, slightly cooled by the 
 thick shade of the trees, and the humidity of the 
 adjacent pond, breathed forth a sort of caressing 
 warmth. Suddenly, from behind the poplars of 
 the dam, the trampling of a horse's hoofs became 
 audible, and a moment later, a horsewoman made 
 her appearance in a long riding-habit and a grey 
 hat, mounted on a bay horse ; she was riding at a 
 gallop; a page was galloping behind her, on a 
 small, white cob. 
 
 " Ah ! " - exclaimed Ipatoff, - " Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna is coming. What a pleasant sur- 
 prise I 
 
 196
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " Alone? "—asked Marya Pavlovna, who up 
 to that moment had been standing motionless in 
 the doorway. 
 
 " Alone. . . . Evidently, something has de- 
 tained Piotr Alexyeevitch." 
 
 Marya Pavlovna darted a sidelong glance from 
 beneath her brows, a flush overspread her face, 
 and she turned away. 
 
 In the meantime, the horsewoman had ridden 
 through the wicket-gate into the garden, gal- 
 loped up to the terrace, and sprang lightly to the 
 ground, without waiting either for her groom 
 or for Ipatoff", who had started to meet her. 
 Briskly gathering up the train of her riding- 
 habit, she ran up the steps, and springing upon 
 the terrace, exclaimed blithely: 
 
 "Here I am!" 
 
 " Welcome! "—said Ipatoff.— " How unex- 
 pected, how charming this is! Allow me to kiss 
 your hand. . . ." 
 
 " Certainly,"— returned the visitor; " only, you 
 must pull off the glove yourself.— I cannot." 
 And, extending her hand to him, she nodded to 
 Marya Pavlovna.— " Just fancy, Masha, my 
 brother will not be here to-day,"— she said, with 
 a little sigh. 
 
 " I see for myself that he is not here,"— replied 
 Marya Pavlovna in an undertone. 
 
 " He bade me say to thee that he is busy. 
 Thou must not be angry. Good morning, Egor 
 Kapitonitch; good morning, Ivan Ilitch; good 
 
 197
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 morning, children. . . . Vasya,"— added the 
 guest, turning to her small groom,—" order them 
 to walk Little Beauty up and down well, dost 
 hear? Masha, please give me a pin, to fasten 
 up my train. . . . Come here, Mikhail Niko- 
 laitch." 
 
 IpatofF went closer to her. 
 
 " Who is that new person? "—she asked, quite 
 loudly. 
 
 " That is a neighbour, AstakhofF, Vladimir 
 Sergyeevitch, you know, the owner of Sasovo. 
 I '11 introduce him if you like, shall I? " 
 
 " Very well .... afterward. Akh, what 
 splendid weather! "—she went on.— " Egor Ka- 
 pitonitch, tell me— can it be possible that Ma- 
 tryona Markovna growls even in such weather as 
 this?" 
 
 " Matryona Markovna never grumbles in any 
 sort of weather, madam; and she is merely strict 
 on the score of manners. . ." 
 
 " And what are the BiriulofF girls doing? 
 They know all about it the next day, don't 
 they? . . . ." And she burst into a ringing, sil- 
 very laugh. 
 
 " You are pleased to laugh constantly,"— re- 
 turned Egor Kapitonitch.— " However, when 
 should a person laugh, if not at your age? " 
 
 " Egor Kapitonitch, don't get angry, my dear 
 man ! Akh, I 'm tired ; allow me to sit down. . . ." 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna dropped into an arm- 
 
 198
 
 thk region of dead calm 
 
 chair, and playfully pulled her hat down over her 
 very eyes. 
 
 IpatofF led Vladimir Sergyeitch up to her. 
 
 " Permit me, Nadezhda Alexyeevna, to present 
 to you our neighbour, Mr. Astakhoff, of whom 
 you have, probably, heard a great deal." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch made his bow, while 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna looked up at him from 
 under the brim of her round hat. 
 
 " Nadezhda Alexyeevna VeretyefF, our neigh- 
 bour," — went on IpatofF, turning to Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch. — " She lives here with her brother, 
 Piotr Alexyeitch, a retired lieutenant of the 
 Guards. She is a great friend of my sister-in- 
 law, and bears good will to our household in 
 general." 
 
 " A whole formal inventory," — said Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna, laughing, and, as before, scanning 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch from under her hat. 
 
 But, in the meantime, Vladimir Sergyeitch was 
 thinking to himself: " Why, this is a very pretty 
 woman also." And, in fact, Nadezhda Alex- 
 yeevna was a very charming young girl. Slender 
 and graceful, she appeared much younger than 
 she really was. She was already in her twenty- 
 eighth year. She had a round face, a small head, 
 fluffy fair hair, a sharp, almost audaciously up- 
 turned little nose, and meriy, almost crafty little 
 eyes. Mockery fairly glittered in them, and 
 kindled in them in sparks. Her features, ex- 
 
 199
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 tremely vivacious and mobile, sometimes assumed 
 an almost amusing expression; humour peered 
 forth from them. Now and then, for the most 
 part suddenly, a shade of pensiveness flitted 
 across her face,— and at such times it became 
 gentle and kindly; but she could not surrender 
 herself long to meditation. She easily seized 
 upon the ridiculous sides of people, and drew 
 very respectable caricatures. Everybody had 
 petted her ever since she was born, and that is 
 something which is immediately perceptible; 
 people who have been spoiled in childhood pre- 
 serve a certain stamp to the end of their lives. 
 Her brother loved her, although he asserted that 
 she stung, not Hke a bee, but like a wasp; be- 
 cause a bee stings and then dies, whereas it sig- 
 nifies nothing for a wasp to sting. This compari- 
 son enraged her. 
 
 " Have you come here for long? " — she asked 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch, dropping her eyes, and 
 twisting her riding-whip in her hands. 
 
 "No; I intend to go away from here to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Whither? " 
 
 " Home." 
 
 "Home? Why, may I venture to ask? " 
 
 " What do you mean by ' why '? I have affairs 
 at home which do not brook delay." 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna looked at him. 
 
 "Are you such a . . . . punctual man?" 
 
 200
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " I try to be a punctual man,"— replied Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch. — " In our sedate era, every hon- 
 ourable man must be sedate and punctual." 
 
 " That is perfectly just," — remarked Ipatoff. 
 — " Is n't that true Ivan flitch? " 
 
 Ivan ilitch merely glanced at Ipatoff; but 
 Egor Kapitonitch remarked: 
 
 " Yes, that 's so." 
 
 " 'T is a pity,"— said Nadezhda Alexyeevna; 
 — " precisely what we lack is a jeune premier. 
 You know how to act comedy, I suppose? " 
 
 " I have never put my powers in that line to 
 the test." 
 
 " I am convinced that you would act well. You 
 have that sort of bearing .... a stately mien, 
 which is indispensable in a jeune premier. My 
 brother and I are preparing to set up a theatre 
 here. However, we shall not act comedies 
 only: we shall act all sorts of things — dramas, 
 ballets, and even tragedies. Why would n't 
 Masha do for Cleopatra or Phedre? Just look 
 at her!" 
 
 Vladfmir Sergyeitch turned round. . . . Marya 
 Pavlovna was gazing thoughtfully into the dis- 
 tance, as she stood leaning her head against the 
 door, with folded arms. . . . At that moment, 
 her regular features really did suggest the faces 
 of ancient statues. She did not catch Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna's last words; but, perceiving that 
 the glances of all present were suddenly directed 
 
 201
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 to her, she immediately divined what was going 
 on, blushed, and was about to retreat into the 
 drawing-room. . . . Nadezhda Alexyeevna 
 briskl}'^ grasped her by the hand and, with the 
 coquettish caressing action of a kitten, drew her 
 toward her, and kissed that almost masculine 
 hand. Marya Pavlovna flushed more vividly than 
 before. 
 
 " Thou art always playing pranks, Nadya," — 
 she said. 
 
 " Did n't I speak the truth about thee? I 
 am ready to appeal to all. . . . Well, enough, 
 enough, I won't do it again. But I will say 
 again," — went on Nadezhda Alexyeevna, ad- 
 dressing Vladimir Sergyeitch, — " that it is a pity 
 you are going away. We have a jeune premie?'^ 
 it is true; he calls liimself so, but he is very bad." 
 
 " Who is he? permit me to inquire." 
 
 " Bodrj^akoiF the poet. How can a poet be a 
 jeune premier? In the first place, he dresses in 
 the most frightful way; in the second place, he 
 writes epigrams, and gets shy in the presence of 
 every woman, even in mine. He lisps, one of his 
 hands is always higher than his head, and I don't 
 know what besides. Tell me, please, M'sieu 
 AstakhoiF, are all poets like that? " 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch drew himself up slightly. 
 
 " I have never known a single one of them, 
 personally; but I must confess that I have never 
 sought acquaintance with them." 
 
 202
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " Yes, you certainly are a positive man. We 
 shall have to take BodryakofF; there 's nothing 
 else to be done. Other jeunes premiers are even 
 worse. That one, at all events, will learn his part 
 by heart. Masha, in addition to tragic roles, will 
 fill the post of prima donna. . . . You have n't 
 heard her sing, have you, M'sieu Astakhoff ? " 
 
 " No," — replied Vladimir Sergyeitch, display- 
 ing his teeth in a smile ; " and I did not know . . . ." 
 
 " What is the matter with thee to-day, Na- 
 dya? " — said Marya Pavlovna, with a look of dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna sprang to her feet. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Masha, do sing us some- 
 thing, please. ... I won't let thee alone until 
 thou singest us something, Masha dearest. I 
 would sing myself, to entertain the visitors, but 
 thou knowest what a bad voice I have. But, on 
 the other hand, thou shalt see how splendidly I 
 will accompany thee." 
 
 Marya Pavlovna made no reply. 
 
 " There 's no getting rid of thee,"— she said at 
 last. — " Like a spoiled child, thou art accustomed 
 to have all thy caprices humoured. I will sing, 
 if you like." 
 
 " Bravo, bravo! "—exclaimed Nadezhda Alex- 
 yeevna, clapping her hands. — " Let us go into the 
 drawing-room, gentlemen. — And as for caprices," 
 —she added, laughing,— " I '11 pay you off for 
 that I Is it permissible to expose my weaknesses 
 
 203
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 in the presence of strangers? Egor Kapitonitch, 
 does Matryona Markovna shame you thus before 
 people? " 
 
 " Matryona Markovna/'— muttered Egor Ka- 
 pitonitch,—" is a very worthy lady; only, on the 
 score of manners . . . ." 
 
 " Well, come along, come along! " — Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna interrupted him, and entered the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 All followed her. She tossed off her hat and 
 seated herself at the piano. Marya Pavlovna 
 stood near the wall, a good way from Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna. 
 
 " Masha,"— said the latter, after reflecting a 
 little,—" sing us ' The farm-hand is sowing the 
 
 • 5 5» 1 
 
 gram. 
 
 Marya Pavlovna began to sing. Her voice 
 was pure and powerful, and she sang well— sim- 
 ply, and without affectation. All listened to her 
 with great attention, while Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 could not conceal his amazement. When Marya 
 Pavlovna had finished, he stepped up to her, and 
 began to assure her that he had not in the least 
 expected .... 
 
 , "Wait, there 's something more coming!"— 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna interrupted him.—" Ma- 
 sha, I will soothe thy Topknot ^ soul:— Now sing 
 us ' Humming, humming in the trees.' " 
 
 * A little Russian song. —Translator. 
 
 2 The popular nickname among Great Russians for the Little Rus- 
 sians. —Translator. 
 
 204
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " Are you a Little Russian? "—Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch asked her. 
 
 " I am a native of Little Russia," she replied, 
 and began to sing " Humming, humming." 
 
 At first she uttered the words in an indifferent 
 manner ; but the mournfully passionate lay of her 
 fatherland gradually began to stir her, her cheeks 
 flushed scarlet, her glance flashed, her voice rang 
 out fervently. She finished. 
 
 " Good heavens ! How well thou hast sung 
 that!" — said Nadezhda Alexyeevna, bending 
 over the keys. — " What a pity that my brother 
 was not here! " 
 
 Marya Pavlovna instantly dropped her eyes, 
 and laughed with her customary bitter little 
 laugh. 
 
 " You must give us something more," — re- 
 marked IpatofF. 
 
 " Yes, if you will be so good,"— added Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Excuse me, I will not sing any more to-day," 
 — said Marya Pavlovna, and left the room. 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna gazed after her, first 
 reflected, then smiled, began to pick out 
 " The farm-hand is sowing the grain " with 
 one finger, then suddenly began to play a bril- 
 liant polka, and without finishing it, struck a 
 loud chord, clapped to the lid of the piano, and 
 rose. 
 
 " 'T is a pity that there is no one to dance 
 
 205
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 with! " — she exclaimed. — " It would be just the 
 thing!" 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch approached her. 
 
 " What a magnificent voice Marya Pavlovna 
 has," — he remarked; — " and with how much feel- 
 ing she sings! " 
 
 " And are you fond of music? " 
 
 " Yes .... very." 
 
 " Such a learned man, and you are fond of 
 musjc! 
 
 " But what makes you think that I am 
 learned? " 
 
 " Akh, yes ; excuse me, I am always forgetting 
 that you are a positive man. But where has 
 Marya Pavlovna gone? Wait, I 11 go after her." 
 
 And Nadezhda Alexyeevna fluttered out of 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 " A giddy-pate, as you see," — said IpatofF, 
 coming up to Vladimir Sergyeitch; — "but the 
 kindest heart. And what an education she re- 
 ceived you cannot imagine; she can express 
 herself in all languages. Well, they are wealthy 
 people, so that is comprehensible." 
 
 " Yes," — articulated Vladimir Sergyeitch, ab- 
 stractedly, — " she is a very charming girl. But 
 permit me to inquire. Was your wife also a native 
 of Little Russia? " 
 
 " Yes, she was, sir. My late wife was a Little 
 Russian, as her sister Marya Pavlovna is. My 
 wife, to tell the truth, did not even have a per- 
 
 206
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 fectly pure pronunciation; although she was a 
 perfect mistress of the Russian language, still 
 she did not express herself quite correctly; they 
 pronounce i^ uij, there, and their kha and zhe are 
 peculiar also, you know; well, Marya Pavlovna 
 left her native land in early childhood. But the 
 Little Russian blood is still perceptible, is n't it? " 
 
 " Marya Pavlovna sings wonderfully," — re- 
 marked Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Really, it is not bad. But why don't they 
 bring us some tea? And where have the young 
 ladies gone? 'T is time to drink tea." 
 
 The young ladies did not return very speedily. 
 In the meantime, the samovar was brought, the 
 table was laid for tea. IpatofF sent for them. 
 Both came in together. Marya Pavlovna seated 
 herself at the table to pour the tea, while Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna walked to the door opening 
 on the terrace, and began to gaze out into the gar- 
 den. The brilliant summer day had been suc- 
 ceeded by a clear, calm evening; the sunset was 
 flaming; the broad pond, half flooded with its 
 crimson, stood a motionless mirror, grandly re- 
 flecting in its deep bosom all the aiiy depths of 
 the sky, and the house, and the trees turned up- 
 side down, and had grown black, as it were. 
 Everything was silent round about. There was 
 no noise anywhere. 
 
 "Look, how beautiful! "—said Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna to Vladimir Sergyeitch, as he ap- 
 
 207
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 proached her;—" down below there, in the pond, 
 a star has kindled its fire by the side of the light 
 in the house; the house-light is red, the other 
 is golden. And yonder comes grandmamma," — 
 she added in a loud voice. 
 
 From behind a clump of lilac-bushes a small 
 calash made its appearance. Two men were 
 drawing it. In it sat an old lady, all wrapped 
 up, all doubled over, with her head resting on her 
 breast. The ruffle of her white cap almost com- 
 pletely concealed her withered and contracted 
 little face. The tiny calash halted in front of the 
 terrace. IpatofF emerged from the drawing- 
 room, and his little daughters ran out after him. 
 They had been constantly slipping from room 
 to room all the evening, like little mice. 
 
 " I wish you good evening, dear mother," — 
 said Ipatoff, stepping up close to the old woman, 
 and elevating his voice. — " How do you feel? " 
 
 " I have come to take a look at you," — said the 
 old woman in a dull voice, and with an effort.— 
 *' What a glorious evening it is. I have been 
 asleep all day, and now my feet have begun to 
 ache. Okh, those feet of mine ! They don't serve 
 me, but they ache." 
 
 " Permit me, dear mother, to present to you 
 our neighbour, AstakhofF, Vladimir Sergyeitch." 
 
 " I am very glad to meet you,"— returned the 
 old woman, scanning him with her large, black, 
 but dim-sighted eyes.—" I beg that you will love 
 
 208
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 my son. He is a fine man; I gave him what 
 education I could; of course, I did the best a 
 woman could. He is still somewhat flighty, but, 
 God willing, he will grow steady, and 't is high 
 time he did ; 't is time for me to surrender matters 
 to him. Is that you, Nadya? "—added the old 
 woman, glancing at Nadezhda Alexyeevna. 
 
 " Yes, grandmamma." 
 
 " And is Masha pouring tea? " 
 
 " Yes, grandmamma, she is pouring tea." 
 
 " And who else is there? " 
 
 " Ivan Ilitch, and Egor Kapitonitch." 
 
 " The husband of Matryona Markovna? " 
 
 " Yes, dear mother." 
 
 The old woman mumbled with her lips. 
 
 " Well, good. But why is it, Misha, that I 
 can't manage to get hold of the overseer? Order 
 him to come to me very early to-morrow morning ; 
 I shall have a great deal of business to arrange 
 with him. I see that nothing goes as it should 
 with you, without me. Come, that will do, I am 
 tired ; take me away. . . . Farewell, batiushka ; ^ 
 I don't remember your name and patronymic,"— 
 she added, addressing Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 " Pardon an old woman. But don't come with 
 me, grandchildren, it is n't necessary. All you 
 care for is to run all the time. Masha spoils you. 
 Well, start on." 
 
 1 Literally, "dear little father": the genuinely Russian mode of 
 address to a man of any class, as mdtushka ("dear little mother") is 
 for women of all classes. — Trakslator. 
 
 209
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 The old woman's head, which she had raised 
 with difficulty, fell back again on her breast. . . . 
 
 The tiny calash started, and rolled softly away. 
 
 "How old is your mother? "—inquired Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Only in her seventy-third year; but it is 
 twenty-six years since her legs failed her; that 
 happened soon after the demise of my late father. 
 But she used to be a beauty." 
 
 All remained silent for a while. 
 
 Suddenly, Nadezhda Alexyeevna gave a start. 
 . " Was that— a bat flying past? Ai, what a 
 fright!" 
 
 And she hastily returned to the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " It is time for me to go home, Mikhafl Niko- 
 laitch; order my horse to be saddled." 
 
 " And it is time for me to be going, too," — 
 remarked Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Where are you going? "—said Ipatoff.— 
 " Spend the night here. Nadezhda Alexyeevna 
 has only two versts to ride, while you have fully 
 twelve. And what 's your hurry, too, Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna ? Wait for the moon ; it will soon be 
 up now. It will be lighter to ride." 
 
 " Very well,"— said Nadezhda Alexyeevna. 
 — " It is a long time since I had a moonlight 
 ride." 
 
 " And will you spend the night? "— IpatoiF 
 asked Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 210
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " Really, I don't know. . . However, if I do 
 not incommode you . . . ." 
 
 " Not in the least, I assure you; I will imme- 
 diately order a chamber to be prepared for you." 
 
 " But it is nice to ride by moonlight," — began 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna, as soon as candles were 
 brought, tea was served, and IpatofF and Egor 
 Kapitonitch had sat down to play preference 
 together, while The Folding Soul seated himself 
 silently beside them:— " especially through the 
 forest, between the walnut-trees. It is both terri- 
 fying and agreeable, and what a strange play 
 of light and shade there is — it always seems as 
 though some one were stealing up behind you, 
 or in front of you. . . ." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch smirked condescendingly. 
 
 "And here 's another thing," — she went on; 
 — *' have you ever happened to sit beside the 
 forest on a warm, dark, tranquil night? At such 
 times it always seems to me as though two per- 
 sons were hotly disputing in an almost inaudible 
 whisper, behind me, close at my very ear." 
 
 " That is the blood beating," — said Ipatoff. 
 
 " You describe in a very poetical way," — re- 
 marked Vladimir Sergyeitch. Nadezhda Alex- 
 yeevna glanced at him. 
 
 " Do you think so? ... In that case, my de- 
 scription would not please Masha." 
 
 " Why? Is not Marya Paylovna fond of 
 poetry? " 
 
 211
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " No; she thinks all that sort of thing is made 
 up — is all false; and she does not like that." 
 
 "A strange reproach!" — exclaimed Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch. "Made up! How could it be other- 
 wise? But, after all, what are composers for? " 
 
 "Well, there, that 's exactly the point; but 
 I am sure you cannot be fond of poetry." 
 
 " On the contrary, I love good verses, when 
 they really are good and melodious, and— how 
 shall I say it? — when they present ideas, 
 thoughts. . . ." 
 
 Marya Pavlovna rose. 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna turned swiftly toward 
 her. 
 
 " Whither art thou going, Masha? " 
 
 " To put the children to bed. It is almost nine 
 o'clock." 
 
 " But cannot they go to bed without thee? " 
 
 But Marya Pavlovna took the children by the 
 hand and went away with them. 
 
 " She is out of sorts to-day,"— remarked Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna;— " and I know why,"— she 
 added in an undertone. — " But it will pass off." 
 
 " Allow me to inquire,"— began Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch,—" where you intend to spend the win- 
 ter? " 
 
 " Perhaps here, perhaps in Petersburg. It 
 seems to me that I shall be bored in Petersburg." 
 
 " In Petersburg! Good gracious! How is that 
 possible? " 
 
 212
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 And Vladimir Sergyeitch began to describe all 
 the comforts, advantages, and charm of life in 
 our capital. Nadezhda Alexyeevna listened to 
 him with attention, never taking her eyes from 
 him. She seemed to be committing his features 
 to memory, and laughed to herself from time to 
 time. 
 
 " I see that you are very eloquent,"— she said 
 at last. — " I shall be obliged to spend the winter 
 in Petersburg." 
 
 " You will not repent of it,"— remarked Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " I never repent of anything; it is not worth 
 the bother. If you have perpetrated a blunder, 
 try to forget it as speedily as possible — that 's 
 all." 
 
 " Allow me to ask,"— began Vladimir Sergye- 
 itch, after a brief pause, and in the French lan- 
 guage;— "have you known Mary a Pavlovna 
 long? " 
 
 " Allow me to ask,"— retorted Nadezhda Alex- 
 yeevna, with a swift laugh; — " why you have put 
 precisely that question to me in French? " 
 
 " Because .... for no particular reason. . , ." 
 
 Again Nadezhda Alexyeevna laughed. 
 
 " No ; I have not known her very long. But 
 she is a remarkable girl, is n't she? " 
 
 " She is very original," — said Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch, through his teeth. 
 
 " And in your mouth— in the mouth of posi- 
 
 213
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 tive persons — does that constitute praise? I do 
 not think so. Perhaps I seem original to you, 
 also? But,"— she added, rising from her seat and 
 casting a glance through the window,—" the 
 moon must have risen; that is its light on the 
 poplars. It is time to depart. ... I will go 
 and give order that Little Beauty shall be 
 saddled." 
 
 " He is already saddled, ma'am,"— said Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna's groom, stepping out from 
 the shadow in the garden into a band of light 
 which fell on the terrace. 
 
 " Ah! Well, that 's very good, indeed! Ma- 
 sha, where art thou? Come and bid me good- 
 bye." 
 
 Marya Pavlovna made her appearance from 
 the adjoining room. The men rose from the card- 
 table. 
 
 " So you are going already? " — inquired Ipa- 
 tofF. 
 
 " I am; it is high time." 
 
 She approached the door leading into the gar- 
 den. 
 
 "What a night!"— she exclaimed.— " Come 
 here ; hold out your face to it ; do you feel how it 
 seems to breathe upon you? And what fragrance! 
 all the flowers have waked up now. They have 
 waked up — and we are preparing to go to sleep. 
 .... Ah, by the way, Masha,"— she added:— 
 " I have told Vladimir Sergyeitch, you know, 
 
 214
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 that thou art not fond of poetry. And now, fare- 
 well . . . yonder comes my horse. . . ." 
 
 And she ran briskly down the steps of the ter- 
 race, swung herself lightly into the saddle, said, 
 " Good-bye until to-morrow! "—and lashing her 
 horse on the neck with her riding-switch, she gal- 
 loped off in the direction of the dam. . . . The 
 groom set off at a trot after her. 
 
 All gazed after her. . . . 
 
 " Until to-morrow! " — her voice rang out once 
 more from behind the poplars. 
 
 The hoof -beats were still audible for a long 
 time in the silence of the summer night. At last, 
 IpatofF proposed that they should go into the 
 house again. 
 
 " It really is very nice out of doors,"— he said; 
 — " but we must finish our game." 
 
 All obeyed him. Vladimir Sergyeitch began 
 to question Marya Pavlovna as to why she did not 
 like poetry. 
 
 " Verses do not please me,"— she returned, 
 with apparent reluctance. 
 
 "But perhaps you have not read many 
 verses ? " 
 
 " I have not read them myself, but I have had 
 them read to me." 
 
 " And is it possible that they did not please 
 you?" 
 
 " No ; none of them." 
 
 " Not even Pushkin's verses? '* 
 
 215
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " Not even Pushkin's." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Marya Pavlovna made no answer ; but Ipatoff , 
 twisting round across the back of his chair, re- 
 marked, with a good-natured laugh, that she not 
 only did not like verses, but sugar also, and, in 
 general, could not endure anything sweet. 
 
 "But, surely, there are verses which are not 
 sweet,"— retorted Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " For example? "—Marya Pavlovna asked 
 him. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch scratched behind his ear. 
 .... He himself knew very few verses by heart, 
 especially of the sort which were not sweet. 
 
 Why, here now,"— he exclaimed at last;— 
 do you know Pushkin's * The Upas-Tree'?* 
 No? That poem cannot possibly be called 
 sweet." 
 
 " Recite it,"— said Marya Pavlovna, dropping 
 her eyes. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch first stared at the ceiling, 
 frowned, mumbled something to himself, and at 
 last recited " The Upas-Tree." 
 
 After the first four lines, Marya Pavlovna 
 slowly raised her eyes, and when Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch ended, she said, with equal slowness: 
 
 ^ The poem, after describing the deadly qualities of the upas-tree, 
 narrates how a potentate sent one of his slaves to bring hira flowers 
 from it. The slave, thoroughly aware of his danger, fulfilled his 
 sovereign's behest, returned with branches of the tree, and dropped 
 dead. — Tbanslator. 
 
 ... 216 

 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 *' Please recite it again." 
 
 " So these verses do please you? "—asked Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Recite it again." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch repeated *' The Upas- 
 Tree." Marya Pavlovna rose, went out into the 
 next room, and returned with a sheet of paper, 
 an inkstand and a pen. 
 
 " Please write that down for me,"— she said to 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Certainly; with pleasure,"— he rephed, begin- 
 ning to write. — " But I must confess that I am 
 puzzled to know why these verses have pleased 
 you so. I recited them simply to prove to you 
 that not all verses are sweet." 
 
 " So am I! "—exclaimed IpatoiF.— " What do 
 you think of those verses, Ivan Ilitch? " 
 
 Ivan Ilitch, according to his wont, merely 
 glanced at Ipatoff, but did not utter a word. 
 
 " Here, ma'am, — I have finished," — said Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch, as he placed an interrogation- 
 point at the end of the last line. 
 
 Marya Pavlovna thanked him, and carried the 
 written sheet off to her own room. 
 
 Half an hour later supper was served, and an 
 hour later all the guests dispersed to their rooms. 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch had repeatedly addressed 
 Marya Pavlovna; but it was difficult to conduct 
 a conversation with her, and his anecdotes did 
 not seem to interest her greatly. He probably 
 
 217
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 would have fallen asleep as soon as he got into 
 bed had he not been hindered by his neighbour, 
 Egor Kapitonitch. Matryona Markovna's hus- 
 band, after he was fully undressed and had got 
 into bed, talked for a very long time with his 
 servant, and kept bestowing reprimands on him. 
 Every word he uttered was perfectly audible to 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch: only a thin partition sep- 
 arated them. 
 
 " Hold the candle in front of thy breast," — 
 said Egor Kapitonitch, in a querulous voice; — 
 " hold it so that I can see thy face. Thou hast 
 aged me, aged me, thou conscienceless man — hast 
 aged me completely." 
 
 " But, for mercy's sake, Egor Kapitonitch, 
 how have I aged you? " — the servant's dull and 
 sleepy voice made itself heard. 
 
 " How? I '11 tell thee how. How many times 
 have I said to thee : ' Mitka,' I have said to thee, 
 ' when thou goest a-visiting with me, always take 
 two garments of each sort, especially ' . . . . hold 
 the candle in front of thy breast . . . . ' especially 
 underwear.' And what hast thou done to me 
 to-day?" 
 
 "What, sir?" 
 
 " ' What, sir? ' What am I to put on to-mor- 
 row? " 
 
 " Why, the same things you wore to-day, sir." 
 
 " Thou hast aged me, malefactor, aged me. I 
 was almost beside myself with the heat to-day, 
 
 218
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 as it was. Hold the candle in front of thy breast, 
 I tell thee, and don't sleep when thy master is 
 talking to thee." 
 
 " Well, but Matryona Markovna said, sir, 
 ' That 's enough. Why do you always take such 
 a mass of things with you? They only get worn 
 out for nothing.' " 
 
 " Matryona Markovna .... Is it a woman's 
 business, pray, to enter into that? You have 
 aged me. Okh, you have made me old before my 
 time!" 
 
 " Yes ; and Yakhim said the same thing, sir." 
 
 " What 's that thou saidst? " 
 
 " I say, Yakhim said the same thing, sir." 
 
 "Yakhim! Yakhim! "—repeated Egor Kapi- 
 tonitch, reproachfully.—" Ekh, you have aged 
 me, ye accursed, and don't even know how to 
 speak Russian intelligibly. Yakhim ! Who 's Ya- 
 khim I Efrim,— well, that might be allowed to 
 pass, it is permissible to say that; because the 
 genuine Greek name is Evthimius, dost under- 
 stand me? . . . Hold the candle in front of thy 
 breast. . . . So, for the sake of brevity, thou 
 may est say Efrim, if thou wilt, but not Yakhim 
 by any manner of means. Yakhim ! " ^ added 
 Egor Kapitonitch, emphasising the syllable Ya. 
 — " You have aged me, ye malefactors. Hold 
 the candle in front of thy breast! " 
 
 And for a long time, Egor Kapitonitch con- 
 
 ^ It should be Akim, popular for lakfnthos. Hyacinth.— Translator. 
 
 219
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 tinued to berate his servant, in spite of sighs, 
 coughs, and other tokens of impatience on the 
 part of Vladimir Sergyeitch. . . . 
 
 At last he dismissed his Mitka, and fell asleep ; 
 but Vladimir Sergyeitch was no better off for 
 that: Egor Kapitonitch snored so mightily and 
 in so deep a voice, with such playful transitions 
 from high tones to the very lowest, with such 
 accompanying whistlings, and even snappings, 
 that it seemed as though the very partition were 
 shaking in response to him; poor Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch almost wept. It was very stifling 
 in the chamber which had been allotted to him, 
 and the feather-bed whereon he was lying 
 embraced his whole body in a sort of crawling 
 heat. 
 
 At last, in despair, Vladimir Sergyeitch rose, 
 opened the window, and began with avidity to 
 inhale the nocturnal freshness. The window 
 looked out on the park. It was light overhead, 
 the round face of the full moon was now clearly 
 reflected in the pond, and stretched itself out in 
 a long, golden sheaf of slowly transfused span- 
 gles. On one of the paths Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 espied a figure in woman's garb; he looked 
 more intently; it was Marya Pavlovna; in the 
 moonlight her face seemed pale. She stood 
 motionless, and suddenly began to speak. . . . 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch cautiously put out his 
 head. . . . 
 
 220
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " But a man — with glance imperious — 
 Sent a man to the Upas-tree ....''■' 
 
 reached his ear. . . . 
 
 " Come,"— he thought,—" the verses must 
 have taken effect. . . ." 
 
 And he began to listen with redoubled atten- 
 tion. . . . But Marya Pavlovna speedily fell si- 
 lent, and turned her face more directly toward 
 him; he could distinguish her large, dark eyes, 
 her severe brows and lips. . . . 
 
 Suddenly, she started, wheeled round, entered 
 the shadow cast by a dense wall of lofty acacias, 
 and disappeared. Vladimir Sergyeitch stood for 
 a considerable time at the window, then got into 
 bed again, but did not fall asleep very soon. 
 
 " A strange being," — he thought, as he tossed 
 from side to side;—" and yet they say that there 
 is nothing particular in the provinces. . . . The 
 idea! A strange being! I shall ask her to-mor- 
 row what she was doing in the park." 
 
 And Egor Kapitonitch continued to snore as 
 before. 
 
 Ill 
 
 On the following morning Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 awoke quite late, and immediately after the gen- 
 eral tea and breakfast in the dining-room, drove 
 off home to finish his business on his estate, in 
 spite of all old Ipatoff's attempts to detain him. 
 
 221
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Marya Pavlovna also was present at the tea ; but 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch did not consider it neces- 
 sary to question her concerning her late stroll of 
 the night before; he was one of the people who 
 find it difficult to surrender themselves for two 
 days in succession to any unusual thoughts and 
 assumptions whatsoever. He would have been 
 obliged to discuss verses, and the so-called " poet- 
 ical " mood wearied him very quickly. He spent 
 the whole day until dinner in the fields, ate with 
 great appetite, dozed off, and when he woke up, 
 tried to take up the clerk's accounts; but be- 
 fore he had finished the first page, he ordered his 
 tarantas to be harnessed, and set off for IpatofF's. 
 Evidently, even positive people do not bear about 
 in their breasts hearts of stone, and they are no 
 more fond of being bored than other plain mor- 
 tals. 
 
 As he drove upon the dam he heard voices and 
 the sound of music. They were singing Rus- 
 sian ballads in chorus in IpatofF's house. He 
 found the whole company which he had left in 
 the morning on the terrace; all, Nadezhda Ale- 
 xyeevna among the rest, were sitting in a circle 
 around a man of two-and-thirty — a swarthy- 
 skinned, black-eyed, black-haired man in a vel- 
 vet jacket, with a scarlet kerchief carelessly 
 knotted about his neck, and a guitar in his hands. 
 This was Piotr Alexyeevitch VeretyefF, brother 
 of Nadezhda Alexyeevna. On catching sight of 
 
 222
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch, old IpatofF advanced to 
 meet him with a joyful cry, led him up to Vere- 
 tyefF, and introduced them to each other. After 
 exchanging the customary greetings with his new 
 acquaintance, Astakhoff made a respectful bow 
 to the latter's sister. 
 
 " We 're singing songs in country fashion, 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch," — began Ipatoff, and 
 pointing to VeretyefF he added: — " Piotr Ale- 
 xyeitch is our leader, — and what a leader! Just 
 you listen to him! " 
 
 " This is very pleasant,"— replied Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Will not you join the choir? "— Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna asked him. 
 
 " I should be heartily glad to do so, but I have 
 no voice." 
 
 " That does n't matter! See, Egor Kapito- 
 nitch is singing, and I 'm singing. All you have 
 to do is to chime in. Pray, sit down ; and do thou 
 strike up, my dear fellow! " 
 
 " What song shall we sing now? " — said Vere- 
 tyefF, thrumming the guitar; and suddenly stop- 
 ping short, he looked at Marya Pavlovna, who 
 was sitting by his side. — " I think it is your tui'n 
 now," — he said to her. 
 
 " No; do you sing,"— replied Marj^a Pavlovna. 
 
 " Here 's a song now : ' Adown dear Mother 
 Volga ' " — said Vladimir Sergyeitch, with im- 
 portance. 
 
 223
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " No, we will save that up for the last,"— re- 
 plied VeretyefF, and tinkling the strings of the 
 guitar, he struck up, in slow measure, " The sun 
 is setting." 
 
 He sang splendidly, dashingly, and blithely. 
 His manly face, already expressive, became still 
 more animated when he sang; now and then he 
 shrugged his shoulders, suddenly pressed the 
 strings with his palm, raised his arm, shook his 
 curls, and darted a falcon-like look around him. 
 More than once in Moscow he had seen the fa- 
 mous Ilya, and he imitated him. The chorus 
 chimed in lustily. Marya Pavlovna's voice sep- 
 arated itself in a melodious flood from the other 
 voices; it seemed to drag them after it; but she 
 would not sing alone, and Veretyeif remained the 
 leader to the end. 
 
 They sang a great many other songs. . . . 
 
 In the meantime, along with the evening 
 shadows, a thunder-storm drew on. From noon- 
 day it had been steaming hot, and thunder had 
 kept rumbling in the distance; but now a broad 
 thunder-cloud, which had long lain like a leaden 
 pall on the very rim of the horizon, began to in- 
 crease and show itself above the crests of the 
 trees, the stifling air began to quiver more dis- 
 tinctly, shaken more and more violently by the 
 approaching storm ; the wind rose, rustled the fo- 
 liage abruptly, died into silence, again made a 
 prolonged clamour, and began to roar; a surly 
 
 224
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 gloom flitted over the earth, swiftly dispelling 
 the last reflection of the sunset glow ; dense clouds 
 suddenly floated up, as though rending them- 
 selves free, and sailed across the sky; a fine rain 
 began to patter down, the lightning flashed in 
 a red flame, and the thunder rumbled heavily and 
 angrily. 
 
 " Let us go,"— said old Ipatoff,— " or we shall 
 be drenched." 
 
 All rose. 
 
 " Directly! "—exclaimed Piotr Alexyeitch. — 
 " One more song, the last. Listen : 
 
 "Akh, thou house, thou house of mine, 
 Thou new house of mine . . . . ' ' 
 
 he struck up in a loud voice, briskly striking the 
 strings of the guitar with his whole hand. " My 
 new house of maple-wood," joined in the chorus, 
 as though reluctantly carried away. Almost at 
 the same moment, the rain began to beat down in 
 streams ; but Veretyefl" sang " My house " to the 
 end. From time to time, drowned by the claps of 
 thunder, the dashing ballad seemed more dash- 
 ing than ever beneath the noisy rattle and gur- 
 gling of the rain. At last the final detonation 
 of the chorus rang out— and the whole company 
 ran, laughing, into the drawing-room. Loudest 
 of all laughed the little girls, IpatofF's daughters, 
 as they shook the rain-drops from their frocks. 
 But, by way of precaution, IpatoiF closed the 
 
 225
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 window, and locked the door; and Egor Kapi- 
 tonitch lauded him, remarking that Matryona 
 Markovna also always gave orders to shut up 
 whenever there was a thunder-storm, because elec- 
 tricity is more capable of acting in an empty 
 space. BodryakofF looked him straight in the 
 face, stepped aside, and overturned a chair. 
 Such trifling mishaps were constantly happening 
 to him. 
 
 The thunder-storm passed over very soon. The 
 doors and windows were opened again, and the 
 rooms were filled with moist fragrance. Tea was 
 brought. After tea the old men sat down to 
 cards again. Ivan tlitch joined them, as usual. 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch was about to go to Marya 
 Pavlovna, who was sitting at the window with 
 VeretyefF; but Nadezhda Alexyeevna called 
 him to her, and immediately entered into a 
 fervent discussion with him about Petersburg 
 and Petersburg hfe. She attacked it; Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch began to defend it. Nadezhda Ale- 
 xyeevna appeared to be trying to keep him by 
 her side. 
 
 " What are you wrangling about? "—in- 
 quired Veretyefl*, rising and approaching them. 
 
 He swayed lazily from side to side as he 
 walked; in all his movements there was percep- 
 tible something which was not exactly careless- 
 ness, nor yet exactly fatigue. 
 
 " Still about Petersburg,"— replied Nadezhda 
 
 226
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Alexyeevna. — " Vladimir Sergyeitch cannot suf- 
 ficiently praise it." 
 
 " 'T is a fine town,"— remarked VeretyefF; — 
 " but, in my opinion, it is nice everywhere. By 
 Heaven, it is. If one only has two or three 
 women, and — pardon my frankness — wine, a 
 man really has nothing left to wish for." 
 
 " You surprise me,"— retorted Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch. " Can it be possible that you are really 
 of one opinion, that there does not exist for the 
 cultured man . . . ." 
 
 "Perhaps .... in fact .... I agree with 
 you," — interrupted VeretyefF, who, notwith- 
 standing all his courtesy, had a habit of not lis- 
 tening to the end of retorts; — "but that 's not 
 in my line; I 'm not a philosopher." 
 
 " Neither am I a philosopher,"— replied Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch; — " and I have not the slightest 
 desire to be one ; but here it is a question of some- 
 thing entirely different." 
 
 VeretyefF cast an abstracted glance at his sis- 
 ter, and she, with a faint laugh, bent toward him, 
 and whispered in a low voice : 
 
 " Petrusha, my dear, imitate Egor Kapito- 
 nitch for us, please." 
 
 VeretyefF's face instantly changed, and, Hea- 
 ven knows by what miracle, became remarkably 
 like the face of Egor Kapitonitch, although 
 the features of the two faces had absolutely no- 
 thing in common, and Veretyeff himself barely 
 
 227
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 wrinkled up his nose and pulled down the corners 
 of his lips. 
 
 " Of course," — he began to whisper, in a voice 
 which was the exact counterpart of Egor Kapi- 
 tonitch's,— " Matryona Markovna is a severe 
 lady on the score of manners; but, on the other 
 hand, she is a model wife. It is true that no 
 matter what I may have said . . . ." 
 
 " The BiriiilofF girls know it all,"— put in 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna, hardly restraining her 
 laughter. 
 
 " Everything is known on the following day," 
 — replied VeretyefF, with such a comical grim- 
 ace, with such a perturbed sidelong glance, that 
 even Vladimir Sergyeitch burst out laughing. 
 
 " I see that you possess great talent for mimi- 
 cry," — he remarked. 
 
 Veretyeff passed his hand over his face, his 
 features resumed their ordinary expression, while 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, yes! he can mimic any one whom he 
 wishes. . . . He 's a master hand at that." 
 
 " And would you be able to imitate me, for 
 example? " — inquired Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 "I should think so!" — returned Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna: — " of course." 
 
 " Akh, pray do me the favour to represent 
 me,"— said AstakhofF, turning to Veretyeff. — 
 " I beg that you will not stand on ceremony." 
 
 " And so you too have believed her?" — replied 
 VeretyefF, slightly screwing up one eye, and im- 
 
 228
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 parting to his voice the sound of AstakhofF's 
 voice, but so cautiously and slightly that only 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna noticed it, and bit her lips. 
 —"Please do not believe her; she will tell you 
 other untrue things about me." 
 
 "And if you only knew what an actor he is!" 
 —pursued Nadezhda Alexyeevna: — "he plays 
 every conceivable sort of a part. And so splen- 
 didly ! He is our stage-manager, and our promp- 
 ter, and everything you like. It 's a pity that 
 you are going away so soon." 
 
 " Sister, thy partiality blinds thee,"— re- 
 marked VeretyefF, in a pompous tone, but still 
 with the same touch of Astakhoff. — " What will 
 Mr. Astakhoff think of thee?— He will regard 
 thee as a rustic." 
 
 " No, indeed,"— Vladimir Sergj^eitch was be- 
 ginning 
 
 " See here, Petrusha,"— interposed Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna;— " please show us how a drunken 
 man is utterly unable to get his handkerchief out 
 of his pocket ; or no : show us, rather, how a boy 
 catches a fly on the window, and how it buzzes 
 under his fingers." 
 
 "Thou art a regular child,"— replied Vere- 
 tyefF. 
 
 Nevertheless he rose, and stepping to the 
 window, beside which Marya Pavlovna was 
 sitting, he began to pass his hand across the 
 panes, and represent how a small boy catches 
 a fly.
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 The accuracy with which he imitated its pitiful 
 squeak was really amazing. It seemed as though 
 a live fly were actually struggling under his fin- 
 gers. Nadezhda Alexyeevna burst out laugh- 
 ing, and gradually every one in the room got to 
 laughing. Marya Pavlovna's face alone under- 
 went no change, not even her lips quivered. She 
 sat with downcast eyes, but raised them at last, 
 and casting a serious glance at Veretyeff*, she 
 muttered through her set teeth: 
 
 " What possesses you to make a clown of your- 
 self?" 
 
 VeretyeiF instantly turned away from the win- 
 dow, and, after standing still for a moment in the 
 middle of the room, he went out on the terrace, 
 and thence into the garden, which had already 
 grown perfectly dark. 
 
 "How amusing that Piotr Alexyeitch is!" — 
 exclaimed Egor Kapitonitch, slapping down the 
 seven of trumps with a flourish on some one else's 
 ace. — " Really, he 's very amusing! " 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna rose, and hastily ap- 
 proaching Marya Pavlovna, asked her in an un- 
 dertone : 
 
 *' What didst thou say to my brother? " 
 ' " Nothing,"— replied the other. 
 
 "What dost thou mean by 'nothing'? Im- 
 possible." 
 
 And after waiting a little, Nadezhda Alexye- 
 evna said: " Come! "—took Marya Pavlovna by 
 
 230
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 the hand, forced her to rise, and went off with 
 her into the garden. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch gazed after the two 
 young girls not without perplexity. But they 
 were not absent long; a quarter of an hour later 
 they returned, and Piotr Alexyeitch entered the 
 room with them. 
 
 "What a splendid night!" exclaimed Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna, as she entered. — " How 
 beautiful it is in the garden! " 
 
 " Akh, yes. By the way,"— said Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch; — "allow me to inquire, Mary a Pav- 
 lovna, whether it was you whom I saw in the 
 garden last night? " 
 
 Marya Pavlovna gave him a swift look straight 
 in the eyes. 
 
 " Moreover, so far as I could make out, you 
 were declaiming Pushkin's ' The Upas-Tree.' " 
 
 VeretyefF frowned slightly, and he also began 
 to stare at AstakhofF. 
 
 " It really was I,"— said Marya Pavlovna; — 
 "only, I was not declaiming anything; I never 
 declaim." 
 
 " Perhaps it seemed so to me,"— began Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch;— " but . . ." 
 
 " It did seem so to you? "-remarked Marya 
 Pavlovna, coldly. 
 
 " What 's ' The Upas-Tree '? "-inquired Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna. 
 
 "Why, don't you know? "—retorted Asta- 
 
 231
 
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 khoff. — " Do you mean to say you don't remem- 
 ber Pushkin's verses : ' On the unhealthy, meagre 
 soil'?" 
 
 " Somehow I don't remember. . . . That upas- 
 tree is a poisonous tree, is n't it? " 
 Yes." 
 
 Like the datura. . . . Dost remember, Masha, 
 how beautiful the datura were on our balcony, in 
 the moonlight, with their long, white blossoms? 
 Dost remember what fragrance poured from 
 them, — so sweet, insinuating, and insidious? " 
 
 "An insidious fragrance!" — exclaimed Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Yes; insidious. What are you surprised at? 
 They say it is dangerous, but it is attractive. 
 Why can evil attract? Evil should not be beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 "Oh, what theories!" — remarked Piotr 
 Alexyeitch;— " how far away we have got from 
 verses! " 
 
 " I recited those verses yesterday evening to 
 Marya Pavlovna," interposed Vladimir Sergye- 
 itch; — "and they pleased her greatly." 
 
 "Akh, please recite them,"— said Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna. 
 
 " Certainly, madam." 
 
 And AstakhofF recited " The Upas-Tree." 
 
 " Too bombastic," — ejaculated VeretyefF, as 
 though against his will, as soon as Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch had finished. 
 
 232
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " The poem is too bombastic? " 
 
 " No, not the poem. . . . Excuse me, it seems 
 to me that you do not recite with sufficient simpli- 
 city. The thing speaks for itself; however, I 
 may be mistaken." 
 
 " No, thou art not mistaken," — said Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna, pausing between her words. 
 
 " Oh, yes; that is a matter of course! In thy 
 eyes I am a genius, an extremely gifted man, 
 who knows everything, can do everything; un- 
 fortunately, he is overcome with laziness; is n't 
 that so? " 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna merely shook her head. 
 
 " I shall not quarrel with you ; you must know 
 best about that,"— remarked Vladimir Sergye- 
 itch, somewhat sulkily. — " That 's not in my 
 line." 
 
 " I made a mistake, pardon me," — ejaculated 
 VeretyefF, hastily. 
 
 In the meantime, the game of cards had come 
 to an end. 
 
 " Akh, by the way,"— said IpatofF, as he rose; 
 — " Vladimir Sergyeitch, one of the local landed 
 proprietors, a neighbour, a very fine and worthy 
 man, Akilin, Gavrila Stepanitch, has commis- 
 sioned me to ask you whether you will not do 
 him the honour to be present at his ball, — that is, 
 I just put it so, for beauty of style, and said 
 ' ball,' but it is only an evening party with danc- 
 ing, quite informal. He would have called upon 
 
 233
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 you himself without fail, only he was afraid of 
 disturbing you." 
 
 " I am much obliged to the gentleman,"— re- 
 turned Vladimir Sergyeiteh; — " but it is impera- 
 tively necessary that I should return home. ..." 
 
 " Why— but when do you suppose the ball 
 takes place? 'T is to-morrow. To-morrow is 
 Gavrila Stepanitch's Name-day. One day more 
 won't matter, and how much pleasure you will 
 give him! And it 's only ten versts from here. 
 If you will allow, we will take you thither." 
 
 " Really, I don't know,"— began Vladimir 
 Sergyeiteh. — " And are you going? " 
 
 " The whole family! And Nadezhda Alexye- 
 evna and Piotr Alexyeitch,— everybody is 
 going! " 
 
 " You may invite me on the spot for the fifth 
 quadrille, if you like," — remarked Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna.— " The first four are already be- 
 spoken." 
 
 " You are very kind ; and are you already en- 
 gaged for the mazurka? " 
 
 "I? Let me think .... no, I think I am 
 not." 
 
 " In that case, if you will be so kind, I should 
 like to have the honour . . . ." 
 
 " That means that you will go? Very good. 
 Certainly." 
 
 "Bravo! "-exclaimed IpatofF.-" Well, Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeiteh, you have put us under an ob- 
 
 234
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 ligation. Gavrilo Stepanitch will simply go into 
 raptures. Is n't that so, Ivan llitch? " 
 
 Ivan llitch would have preferred to hold his 
 peace, according to his wont, but thought it bet- 
 ter to utter a sound of approval. 
 
 " What possessed thee,"— said Piotr Alexye- 
 itch an hour later to his sister, as he sat with her 
 in a light two-wheeled cart, which he was driv- 
 ing himself,—" what possessed thee to saddle 
 thyself with that sour-visaged fellow for the 
 mazurka? " 
 
 " I have reasons of my own for that," — replied 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna. 
 
 "What reasons?— permit me to inquire." 
 
 " That 's my secret." 
 
 "Oho!" 
 
 And with his whip he lightly flicked the 
 horse, which was beginning to prick up its 
 ears, snort, and shy. It was frightened by 
 the shadow of a huge willow bush wliich fell 
 across the road, dimly illuminated by the 
 moon. 
 
 "And shalt thou dance with Masha?"— Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna, in her turn, questioned her 
 brother. 
 
 " Yes," he said indifferently. 
 
 "Yes! yes! "—repeated Nadezhda Alexye- 
 evna, reproachfully. — " You men," — she added, 
 after a brief pause,—" positively do not deserve 
 to be loved by nice women." 
 
 235
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " Dost think so? Well, and that sour-visaged 
 Petersburger— does he deserve it? " 
 " Sooner than thou." 
 "Really!" 
 And Piotr Alexyeitch recited, with a sigh: 
 
 *'What a mission, O Creator, 
 To be the brother of a grown-up sister ! " 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna burst out laughing. 
 
 " I cause thee a great deal of trouble, there 's 
 no denying that. I have a commission to thee." 
 
 " Really? — I had n't the slightest suspicion of 
 that." 
 
 " I 'm speaking of Masha." 
 
 " On what score? " 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna's face assumed a slight 
 expression of pain. 
 
 " Thou knowest thyself," — she said softly. 
 
 " Ah, I understand!— What 's to be done, Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna, ma'am? I love to drink with 
 a good friend, ma'am, sinful man that I am; 
 I love it, ma'am." 
 
 " Stop, brother, please don't talk like that! . . . 
 This is no jesting matter." 
 
 " Tram-tram-tam-poom ! " — muttered Piotr 
 Alexyeitch through his teeth. 
 
 " It is thy perdition, and thou jestest. . . .' 
 
 » 
 
 a 
 
 The farm-hand is sowing the grain, his wife 
 does not agree 
 
 236 
 
 • • •
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 struck up Piotr Alexyeitch loudly, slapped the 
 horse with the reins, and it dashed onward at a 
 brisk trot. 
 
 IV 
 
 On reaching home Veretyeff did not undress, and 
 a couple of hours later, when the flush of dawn 
 was just colouring the sky, he was no longer in 
 the house. 
 
 Half-way between his estate and Ipatoff 's, on 
 the very brink of a broad ravine, stood a small 
 birch grove. The young trees grew very close 
 together, and no axe had yet touched their grace- 
 ful trunks; a shadow which was not dense, but 
 continuous, spread from the tiny leaves on the 
 soft, thin grass, all mottled with the golden heads 
 of buttercups,^ the white dots of wood-campa- 
 nula, and the tiny deep-crimson crosses of wild 
 pinks. The recently-risen sun flooded the whole 
 grove with a powerful though not brilliant light ; 
 dewdrops glittered everywhere, while here and 
 there large drops kindled and glowed red ; every- 
 thing exhaled freshness, life, and that innocent 
 triumph of the first moments of the morning, 
 when everything is still so bright and still so 
 silent. The only thing audible was the carolling 
 voices of the larks above the distant fields, and 
 in the grove itself two or three small birds were 
 
 ^The unpoetical Russian name is "chicken-blindness" (night- 
 blindness). —Translator. 
 
 237
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 executing, in a leisurely manner, their brief songs, 
 and then, apparently, listening to see how their 
 performance had turned out. From the damp 
 earth arose a strong, healthy scent; a pure, light 
 breeze fluttered all about in cool gusts. Morn- 
 ing, glorious morning, breathed forth from 
 everything— everything looked and smiled of the 
 morning, like the rosy, freshly -washed face of a 
 baby who has just waked up. 
 
 Not far from the ravine, in the middle of a 
 small glade, on an outspread cloak, sat Veretyeff . 
 Marya Pavlovna was standing beside him, lean- 
 ing against a birch-tree, with her hands clasped 
 behind her. 
 
 Both were silent. Marya Pavlovna was gaz- 
 ing fixedly into the far distance; a white scarf 
 had slipped from her head to her shoulders, the 
 errant breeze was stirring and lifting the ends 
 of her hastily-knotted hair. Veretyeff sat bent 
 over, tapping the grass with a small branch. 
 
 " Well," — he began at last, — " are you angry 
 with me? " 
 
 Marya Pavlovna made no reply. 
 
 Veretyeff darted a glance at her. 
 
 " Masha, are you angry? " — he repeated. 
 
 Marya Pavlovna scanned him with a swift 
 glance from head to foot, turned slightly away, 
 and said: 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 238
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " What for? "—asked VeretyefF, and flung 
 away his branch. 
 
 Again Marya Pavlovna made no reply. 
 
 " But, as a matter of fact, you have a right to 
 be angry with me," — began VeretyeiF, after a 
 brief pause. — " You must regard me as a man 
 who is not only frivolous, but even . . . ." 
 
 " You do not understand me," — interrupted 
 Marya Pavlovna. — " I am not in the least angry 
 with you on my own account." 
 
 " On whose account, then? " 
 
 " On your own." 
 
 VeretyefF raised his head and laughed. 
 
 "Ah! I understand! "—he said.— " Again! 
 again the thought is beginning to agitate you: 
 ' Why don't I make something of myself? ' Do 
 you know what, IMasha, you are a wonderful be- 
 ing; by Heaven, you are! You worry so much 
 about other people and so little about yourself. 
 There is not a bit of egoism in you ; really, really 
 there is n't. There 's no other girl in the world 
 like you. It 's a pity about one thing : I decidedly 
 am not worthy of your affection ; I say that with- 
 out jesting." 
 
 " So much the worse for you. You feel and do 
 nothing." — Again VeretyefF laughed. 
 
 " Masha, take your hand from behind your 
 back, and give it to me," — he said, with insinu- 
 ating affection in his voice. 
 
 239
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Marya Pavlovna merely shrugged her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 " Give me your beautiful, honest hand; I want 
 to kiss it respectfully and tenderly. Thus does 
 a giddy-pated scholar kiss the hand of his con- 
 descending tutor." 
 
 And Veretyeff reached out toward Marya 
 Pavlovna. 
 
 " Enough of that! "—said she. " You are al- 
 ways laughing and jesting, and you will jest 
 away your life like that." 
 
 " H'm! jest away my life! A new expression! 
 But I hope, Marya Pavlovna, that you used the 
 verb ' to jest ' in the active sense? " 
 
 Marya Pavlovna contracted her brows. 
 
 " Enough of that, Veretyeff," — she repeated. 
 
 " To jest away life," — went on Veretyeff, half 
 rising; — "but you are imagining me as worse 
 than I am; you are wasting your life in serious- 
 ness. Do you know, Masha, you remind me of a 
 scene from Pushkin's ' Don Juan.' You have 
 not read Pushkin's 'Don Juan'?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Yes, I had forgotten, you see, that you do 
 not read verses. — In that poem guests come to a 
 certain Laura; she drives them all away and 
 remains alone with Carlos. The two go out on 
 the balcony; the night is wonderful. Laura ad- 
 mires, and Carlos suddenly begins to demon- 
 strate to her that she will grow old in course of 
 
 240
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 time.—' Well,' replies Laura, ' it may be cold 
 and rainy in Paris now, but here, with us, " the 
 night is redolent of orange and of laurel." Why 
 make guesses at the future ? ' Look around you, 
 Masha; is it not beautiful here? See how every- 
 thing is enjoying life, how young everything is. 
 And are n't we young ourselves? " 
 
 VeretyefF approached Marya Pavlovna; she 
 did not move away from him, but she did not turn 
 her head toward him. 
 
 "Smile, Masha," — he went on; — "only with 
 your kind smile, not with your usual grin. I 
 love your kind smile. Raise your proud, stern 
 eyes. — What ails you? You turn away. Stretch 
 out your hand to me, at least." 
 
 " Akh, VeretyefF,"— began Masha;-" you 
 know that I do not understand how to express 
 myself. You have told me about that Laura. 
 But she was a woman, you see. ... A woman 
 may be pardoned for not thinking of the future." 
 
 " When you speak, Masha,"— returned Vere- 
 tyeff, — "you blush incessantly with self-love 
 and modesty: the blood fairly flows in a crimson 
 flood into your cheeks. I 'm awfully fond of that 
 in you." 
 
 Marya Pavlovna looked VeretyefF straight in 
 the eye. 
 
 " Farewell,"— she said, and threw her scarf 
 over her head. 
 
 VeretyefF held her back. " Enough, enough. 
 
 241
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Stay! " — he cried. — " Come, why are you going? 
 Issue your commands ! Do you want me to enter 
 the service, to become an agriculturist? Do you 
 want me to pubHsh romances with accompani- 
 ment for the guitar; to print a collection of 
 poems, or of drawings; to busy myself with 
 painting, sculpture, dancing on the rope? I '11 
 do anything, anything, an}i;hing you command, 
 if only you will be satisfied with me! Come, 
 really now, Masha, believe me." 
 
 Again Marya Pavlovna looked at him. 
 
 " You will do all that in words only, not in 
 deeds. You declare that you will obey me . . . ." 
 
 " Of course I do." 
 
 " You obey, but how many times have I begged 
 you . . . ." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 Marya Pavlovna hesitated. 
 
 " Not to drink liquor," — she said at last. 
 
 Veretyeff laughed. 
 
 "Ekh, Masha! And you are at it, too! My 
 sister is worrying herself to death over that also. 
 But, in the first place, I 'm not a drunkard at 
 all; and in the second place, do you know why 
 I drink? Look yonder, at that swallow. . . . 
 Do you see how boldly it manages its tiny body, 
 — and hurls it wherever it wishes? Now it has 
 soared aloft, now it has darted downward. It has 
 even piped with joy: do you hear? So that 's 
 why I drink, Masha, in order to feel those same 
 
 242
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 sensations which that swallow experiences. . . . 
 Hurl yourself whithersoever you will, soar where- 
 soever you take a fancy . . . ." 
 
 " But to what end? "—interrupted Masha. 
 
 " What do you mean by that? What is one to 
 live on then? " 
 
 " But is n't it possible to get along without 
 liquor? " 
 
 " No, it is not ; we are all damaged, rumpled. 
 There 's passion .... it produces the same 
 effect. That 's why I love you." 
 
 " Like wine. . . . I 'm much obliged to you." 
 
 " No, Masha, I do not love j^ou like wine. 
 Stay, I '11 prove it to you sometime,— when we are 
 married, say, and go abroad together. Do you 
 know, I am planning in advance how I shall lead 
 you in front of the Venus of INIilo. At this 
 point it will be appropriate to say: 
 
 ** And when she stands with serious eyes 
 Before the Chyprian of Milos — 
 Twain are they, and the marble in comparison 
 Suffers, it would seem, affront 
 
 " What makes me talk constantly in poetrj^ to- 
 day? It must be that this morning is affecting 
 me. What air ! 'T is exactly as though one were 
 quaffing wine." 
 
 " Wine again," — remarked Marya Pavlovna. 
 
 " What of that! A morning like this, and j^ou 
 with me, and not feel intoxicated ! ' With serious 
 
 243
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 eyes . . . .' Yes," — pursued Veretyeff, gazing 
 intently at Marya Pavlovna, — " that is so. . . . 
 For I remember, I have beheld, rarely, but yet 
 I have beheld these dark, magnificent eyes, I have 
 beheld them tender! And how beautiful they 
 are then! Come, don't turn away, Masha; 
 pray, smile at least .... show me your eyes 
 merry, at all events, if they will not vouchsafe 
 me a tender glance." 
 
 " Stop, Veretyeff,"— said Marya Pavlovna. 
 — " Release me! It is time for me to go home." 
 
 "But I 'm going to make you laugh," — inter- 
 posed Veretyeff; " by Heaven, I will make you 
 laugh. Eh, by the way, yonder runs a hare. . . ." 
 
 " Where? "—asked Marya Pavlovna. 
 
 " Yonder, beyond the ravine, across the field of 
 oats. Some one must have startled it; they don't 
 run in the morning. I '11 stop it on the instant, 
 if you like." 
 
 And Veretyeff whistled loudly. The hare im- 
 mediately squatted, twitched its ears, drew up its 
 fore paws, straightened itself up, munched, 
 sniffed the air, and again began to munch with 
 its lips. Veretyeff promptly squatted down on 
 his heels, like the hare, and began to twitch his 
 nose, sniff, and munch like it. The hare passed 
 its paws twice across its muzzle and shook it- 
 self, — they must have been wet with dew, — stif- 
 fened its ears, and bounded onward. Veretyeff 
 rubbed his hands over his cheeks and shook him- 
 
 244
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 self also. . . . Marya Pavlovna could not hold 
 out, and burst into a laugh. 
 
 " Bravo! "—cried VeretyefF, springing up. 
 " Bravo! That 's ex-actly the point — you are not 
 a coquette. Do you know, if any fashionable 
 young lady had such teeth as you have she would 
 laugh incessantly. But that 's precisely why I 
 love you, Masha, because you are not a fashion- 
 able young lady, don't laugh without cause, and 
 don't wear gloves on your hands, which it is a joy 
 to kiss, because they are sunburned, and one feels 
 their strength. ... I love you, because you don't 
 argue, because you are proud, taciturn, don't read 
 books, don't love poetry . . . ." 
 
 "I '11 recite some verses to you, shall I?" — 
 Marya Pavlovna interrupted him, with a certain 
 peculiar expression on her face. 
 
 " Verses? "—inquired Veretyeff, in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes, verses ; the very ones which that Peters- 
 burg gentleman recited last night." 
 
 The Upas-Tree ' again? .... So you really 
 were declaiming in the garden, by night? That 's 
 just like you. . . . But does it really please you 
 so much? '* 
 
 *' Yes, it does." 
 
 " Recite it." 
 
 Marya Pavlovna was seized with shyness. . . . 
 
 "Recite it, recite it,"— repeated Veretyeff. 
 
 Marya Pavlovna began to recite; Veretyeff 
 
 245
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 stood in front of her, with his arms folded on his 
 breast, and bent himself to listen. At the first 
 line Marya Pavlovna raised her eyes heaven- 
 ward; she did not wish to encounter VeretyefF's 
 gaze. She recited in her even, soft voice, which 
 reminded one of the sound of a violoncello; but 
 when she reached the lines: 
 
 "And the poor slave expired at the feet 
 Of his invincible sovereign . . . ." 
 
 her voice began to quiver, her impassive, haughty 
 brows rose ingenuously, like those of a little girl, 
 and her eyes, with involuntary devotion, fixed 
 themselves on Veretyeff . . . . 
 
 He suddenly threw himself at her feet and 
 embraced her knees. 
 
 " I am thy slave! "—he cried.—" I am at thy 
 feet, thou art my sovereign, my goddess, my ox- 
 eyed Hera, my Medea . . . ." 
 
 Marya Pavlovna attempted to repulse him, 
 but her hands sank helplessly in his thick curls, 
 and, with a smile of confusion, she dropped her 
 head on her breast. . . . 
 
 V 
 
 Gavrila Stepanitch Akilin, at whose house 
 the ball was appointed, belonged to the category 
 of landed proprietors who evoked the admiration 
 
 246
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 of the neighbours by their ingenuity in living well 
 on very insignificant means. Although he did 
 not own more than four hundred serfs, he was 
 in the habit of entertaining the whole government 
 in a huge stone mansion, with a tower and a flag 
 on the tower, erected by himself. The property 
 had descended to him from his father, and 
 had never been distinguished for being well 
 ordered; Gavrila Stepanitch had been an ab- 
 sentee for a long time — had been in the ser- 
 vice in Petersburg. At last, twenty-five years 
 before the date of our story, he returned to 
 his native place, with the rank of Collegiate 
 Assessor,^ and, with a wife and three daughters, 
 had simultaneously undertaken reorganisation 
 and building operations, had gradually set up 
 an orchestra, and had begun to give dinners. At 
 first everybody had prophesied for him speedy 
 and inevitable ruin ; more than once rumours had 
 become current to the eiFect that Gavrila Stepa- 
 nitch's estate was to be sold under the hammer; 
 but the years passed, dinners, balls, banquets, 
 concerts, followed each other in their customary 
 order, new buildings sprang out of the earth like 
 mushrooms, and still Gavrila Stepanitch's estate 
 was not sold under the hammer, and he himself 
 continued to live as before, and had even grown 
 stout of late. 
 
 1 The eighth (out of fourteen) in Peter the Great's Table 
 of Ranks. —Translatoe. 
 
 247
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Then the neighbours' gossip took another di- 
 rection; they began to hint at certain vast sums 
 which were said to be concealed; they talked of 
 a treasure. ..." And if he were only a good 
 farmer, . ..." so argued the nobles among 
 themselves; " but that 's just what he is n't, you 
 know ! Not at all ! So it is deserving of surprise, 
 and incomprehensible." However that may have 
 been, every one went very gladly to Gavrila Ste- 
 panitch's house. He received his guests cordially, 
 and played cards for any stake they liked. He 
 was a grey -haired little man, with a small, pointed 
 head, a yellow face, and yellow eyes, always care- 
 fully shaven and perfumed with eau-de-cologne ; 
 both on ordinary days and on holidays he wore 
 a roomy blue dress-coat, buttoned to the chin, a 
 large stock, in which he had a habit of hiding 
 his chin, and he was foppishly fastidious about 
 his linen; he screwed up his eyes and thrust out 
 his lips when he took snuff, and spoke very po- 
 litely and softly, incessantly employing the let- 
 ter s.^ 
 
 In appearance, Gavrila Stepanitch was not dis- 
 tinguished by vivacity, and, in general, his ex- 
 terior was not prepossessing, and he did not 
 look like a clever man, although, at times, craft 
 gleamed in his eye. He had settled his two el- 
 der daughters advantageously ; the youngest was 
 
 I " S'," a polite addition to sentences, equivalent to a contraction 
 of the words for " sir " or " madam."— Translator. 
 
 248
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 still at home, and of marriageable age. Gavrila 
 Stepanitch also had a wife, an insignificant and 
 wordless being. 
 
 At seven o'clock in the evening, Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch presented himself at the Ipatoifs' in 
 dress-suit and white gloves. He found them all 
 entirely dressed; the little girls were sitting se- 
 dately, afraid of mussing their starched white 
 frocks; old IpatoiF, on catching sight of Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch in his dress-suit, affectionately 
 upbraided him, and pointed to his own frock- 
 coat; Marya Pavlovna wore a muslin gown of a 
 deep rose colour, which was extremely becoming 
 to her. Vladimir Sergyeitch paid her several 
 compliments. Marya Pavlovna's beauty at- 
 tracted him, although she was evidently shy of 
 him ; he also liked Nadezhda Alexyeevna, but her 
 free-and-easy manners somewhat disconcerted 
 him. Moreover, in her remarks, her looks, her 
 very smiles, mockery frequently peeped forth, 
 and this disturbed his citified and well-bred soul. 
 He would not have been averse to making fun of 
 others with her, but it was unpleasant to him to 
 think that she was probably capable of jeering at 
 himself. 
 
 The ball had already begun; a good many 
 guests had assembled, and the home-bred orches- 
 tra was crashing and booming and screeching in 
 the gallery, when the IpatoiF family, accompa- 
 nied by Vladimir Sergyeitch, entered the hall of 
 
 249
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 the Akilin house. The host met them at the very 
 door, thanked Vladimir Sergyeitch for his tender 
 procuration of an agreeable surprise,— that was 
 the way he expressed himself,— and, taking Ipa- 
 toiF's arm, he led him to the drawing-room, to 
 the card-tables. Gavrila Stepanitch had re- 
 ceived a bad education, and everjrthing in his 
 house, both the music and the furniture and the 
 food and the wines, not only could not be called 
 first-class, but were not even fit to be ranked as 
 second-class. On the other hand, there was 
 plenty of everything, and he himself did not put 
 on airs, was not arrogant .... the nobles de- 
 manded nothing more from him, and were en- 
 tirely satisfied with his entertainment. At sup- 
 per, for instance, the caviare was served cut up in 
 chunks and heavily salted; but no one objected 
 to your taking it in your fingers, and there was 
 plenty wherewith to wash it down: wines which 
 were cheap, it is true, but were made from grapes, 
 nevertheless, and not some other concoction. The 
 springs in Gavrila Stepanitch's furniture were 
 rather uncomfortable, owing to their stiffness 
 and inflexibility ; but, not to mention the fact that 
 there were no springs whatever in many of the 
 couches and easy-chairs, any one could place un- 
 der him a worsted cushion, and there was a great 
 number of such cushions lying about, embroi- 
 dered by the hands of Gavrila Stepanitch's 
 spouse herself— and then there was nothing left 
 to desire.
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 In a word, Gavrila Stepanitch's house could 
 not possibly have been better adapted to the so- 
 ciable and unceremonious style of ideas of the 
 inhabitants of *** county, and it was solely ow- 
 ing to Mr. Akilin's modesty that at the assem- 
 blies of the nobility he was not elected Marshal, 
 but a retired Major Podpekin, a greatly re- 
 spected and worthy man, despite the fact that he 
 brushed his hair over to the right temple from the 
 left ear, dyed his moustache a lilac hue, and as 
 he suffered from asthma, had of late fallen into 
 melancholy. 
 
 So, then, the ball had already begun. They 
 were dancing a quadrille of ten pairs. The cava- 
 liers were the officers of a regiment stationed close 
 by, and divers not very youthful squires, and two 
 or three officials from the town. Everything 
 was as it should be, everything was proceeding 
 in due order. The Marshal of the Nobihty 
 was playing cards with a retired Actual Coun- 
 cillor of State,^ and a wealthy gentleman, the 
 owner of three thousand souls. The actual state 
 councillor wore on his forefinger a ring with a 
 diamond, talked very softly, kept the heels of his 
 boots closely united, and did not move them from 
 the position used by dancers of former days, and 
 did not turn his head, which was half concealed 
 by a capital velvet collar. The wealthy gentle- 
 man, on the contrary, was constantly laughing at 
 something or other, elevating his eyebrows, and 
 
 *The fourth from the top in the Table of Ranks.— Translator. 
 
 251
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 flashing the whites of his eyes. The poet Bo- 
 dryakoiF, a man of shy and clumsy aspect, was 
 chatting in a corner with the learned historian 
 EvsiukofF: each had clutched the other by the 
 button. Beside them, one noble, with a remark- 
 ably long waist, was expounding certain auda- 
 cious opinions to another noble who was timidly 
 staring at his forehead. Along the wall sat 
 the mammas in gay-hued caps; around the 
 doors pressed the men of simple cut, young 
 fellows with perturbed faces, and elderly fellows 
 with peaceable ones; but one cannot describe 
 everything. We repeat: everything was as it 
 should be. 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna had arrived even ear- 
 lier than the Ipatoffs; Vladimir Sergyeitch saw 
 her dancing with a young man of handsome ap- 
 pearance in a dandified dress-suit, with expres- 
 sive eyes, thin black moustache, and gleaming 
 teeth; a gold chain hung in a semicircle on his 
 stomach. Nadezhda Alexyeevna wore a light- 
 blue gown with white flowers ; a small garland of 
 the same flowers encircled her curly head ; she was 
 smiling, fluttering her fan, and gaily gazing 
 about her; she felt that she was the queen of 
 the ball. Vladimir Sergyeitch approached her, 
 made his obeisance, and looking her pleasantly in 
 the face, he asked her whether she remembered 
 her promise of the day before. 
 
 "What promise?" 
 
 252
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " Why, that you would dance the mazurka with 
 
 me." 
 
 *' Yes, of course I will dance it with you." 
 
 The young man who stood alongside Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna suddenly flushed crimson. 
 
 "You have probably forgotten, mademoiselle," 
 — he began, — " that you had already previously 
 promised to-day's mazurka to me." 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna became confused. 
 
 " Akh! good heavens, what am I to do? "—she 
 said: — "excuse me, pray, M'sieu Steltchinsky, 
 I am so absent-minded ; I really am ashamed. . . ." 
 
 M'sieu Steltchinsky made no reply, and merely 
 dropped his eyes; Vladimir Sergyeitch assumed 
 a slight air of dignity, 
 
 " Be so good, M'sieu Steltchinsky,"— went on 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna; "you and I are old ac- 
 quaintances, but M'sieu AstakhofF is a stranger 
 among us; do not place me in an awkward posi- 
 tion: permit me to dance with him." 
 
 " As you please," — returned the young man. — 
 " But you must begin." 
 
 " Thanks," — said Nadezhda Alexyeevna, and 
 fluttered ofl" to meet her vis-a-vis. 
 
 Steltchinsky followed her with his eyes, then 
 looked at Vladimir Sergyeitch. Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch, in his turn, looked at him, then stepped 
 aside. 
 
 The quadrille soon came to an end. Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch strolled about the hall a little, then 
 
 253
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 he betook himself to the drawing-room and 
 paused at one of the card-tables. Suddenly he 
 felt some one touch his hand from behind; he 
 turned round— before him stood Steltchinsky. 
 
 " I must have a couple of words with you in 
 the next room, if you will permit,"— said the lat- 
 ter, in French, very courteously, and with an 
 accent which was not Russian. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch followed him. 
 
 Steltchinsky halted at a window. 
 
 " In the presence of ladies,"— he began, in the 
 same language as before,—" I could not say any- 
 thing else than what I did say; but I hope you 
 do not think that I really intend to surrender to 
 you my right to the mazurka with M-lle Vere- 
 tyefF." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch was astounded. 
 
 " Why so? "—he asked. 
 
 " Because, sir,"— replied Steltchinsky, quietly, 
 laying his hand on his breast and inflating his 
 nostrils,—" I don't intend to,— that 's all." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch also laid his hand on his 
 breast, but did not inflate his nostrils. 
 
 " Permit me to remark to you, my dear sir,"— 
 he began,— "that by this course you may drag 
 M-lle Veretyefl* into unpleasantness, and I as- 
 sume . . . ." 
 
 " That would be extremely unpleasant to me, 
 but no one can prevent your declining, declar- 
 ing that you are ill, or going away. . . ." 
 
 254
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " I shall not do it. For whom do you take 
 me?" 
 
 " In that case, I shall be compelled to demand 
 satisfaction from you." 
 
 " In what sense do you mean .... satisfac- 
 tion? " 
 
 " The sense is evident." 
 
 *' You will challenge me to a duel? " 
 
 *' Precisely so, sir, if you do not renounce the 
 mazurka." 
 
 Steltchinsky endeavoured to utter these words 
 as negligently as possible. Vladimir Sergyeitch's 
 heart set to beating violently. He looked his 
 wholly unexpected antagonist in the face. 
 " Phew, O Lord, what stupidity! " he thought. 
 
 " You are not jesting? "—he articulated 
 aloud. 
 
 " I am not in the habit of jesting in general," 
 —replied Steltchinsky, pompously;— " and par- 
 ticularly with people whom I do not know. You 
 will not renounce the mazurka? " — he added, 
 after a brief pause. 
 
 " I will not,"— retorted Vladimir Sergyeitch, 
 as though deliberating. 
 
 " Very good! We will fight to-morrow." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " To-morrow morning my second will call 
 upon you." 
 
 And with a courteous inclination, Steltchinsky 
 withdrew, evidently well pleased with himself. 
 
 255
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch remained a few minutes 
 longer by the window. 
 
 "Just look at that, now!" — he thought. — 
 " This is the result of thy new acquaintances! 
 What possessed me to come? Good! Splendid! " 
 
 But at last he recovered himself, and went out 
 into the hall. 
 
 In the hall they were already dancing the 
 polka. Before Vladimir Sergyeitch's eyes Marya 
 Pavlovna flitted past with Piotr Alexyeitch, 
 whom he had not noticed up to that moment; 
 she seemed pale, and even sad; then Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna darted past, all beaming and joyous, 
 with some youthful, bow-legged, but fiery artil- 
 lery officer; on the second round, she was danc- 
 ing with Steltchinsky. Steltchinsky shook his 
 hair violently when he danced. 
 
 " Well, my dear fellow,"— suddenly rang out 
 IpatofF's voice behind Vladimir Sergyeitch's 
 back;—" you 're only looking on, but not danc- 
 ing yourself? Come, confess that, in spite of the 
 fact that we live in a dead-calm region, so to 
 speak, we are n't badly off, are we, hey? " 
 
 " Good! damn the dead-calm region! " thought 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch, and mumbling something 
 in reply to IpatofF, he went oif to another cor- 
 ner of the hall. 
 
 " I must hunt up a second,"— he pursued his 
 meditations;—" but where the devil am I to find 
 one? I can't take Veretyeff ; I know no others; 
 
 256
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 the devil only knows what a stupid affair this 
 is!" 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch, when he got angry, was 
 fond of mentioning the devil. 
 
 At this moment, Vladimir Sergyeitch's eyes 
 fell upon The Folding Soul, Ivan Ilitch, stand- 
 ing idly by the window. 
 
 " Would n't he do? "—he thought, and shrug- 
 ging his shoulders, he added almost aloud:—" I 
 shall have to take him." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch stepped up to him. 
 
 " A very strange thing has just happened to 
 me," — began our hero with a forced smile: — 
 " just imagine some young man or other, a 
 stranger to me, has challenged me to a duel ; it is 
 utterly impossible for me to refuse; I am in 
 indispensable need of a second: will not you 
 act?" 
 
 Although Ivan Ilitch was characterised, as we 
 know, by imperturbable indifference, yet such 
 an unexpected proposition startled even him. 
 Thorough^ perplexed, he riveted his eyes on 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Yes,"— repeated Vladimir Sergyeitch;— " I 
 should be greatly indebted to you. I am not ac- 
 quainted with any one here. You alone . . . ." 
 
 " I can't," — said Ivan Ilitch, as though just 
 waking up;— "I absolutely can't." 
 
 "Why not? You are afraid of unpleasant- 
 ness ; but all this will, I hope, remain a secret. . . ." 
 
 257
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 As he spoke these words, Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 felt himself blushing and growing confused. 
 
 " Excuse me, I can't possibly,"— repeated 
 Ivan Ilitch, shaking his head and drawing back, 
 in which operation he again overturned a chair. 
 
 For the first time in his life it was his lot to 
 reply to a request by a refusal ; but then, the re- 
 quest was such a queer one ! 
 
 " At any rate,"— pursued Vladimir Sergye- 
 itch, in an agitated voice, as he grasped his hand, 
 — "do me the favour not to speak to any one con- 
 cerning what I have said to you. I earnestly 
 entreat this of you." 
 
 " I can do that, I can do that,"— hastily re- 
 plied Ivan Ilitch; — " but the other thing I can- 
 not do, say what you will; I positively am 
 unable to do it." 
 
 " Well, very good, very good,"— said Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch;—" but do not forget that I rely 
 on your discretion. ... I shall announce to- 
 morrow to that gentleman," he muttered to him- 
 self with vexation,—" that I could not find a 
 second, so let him make what arrangements he 
 sees fit, for I am a stranger here. And the devil 
 prompted me to apply to that gentleman! But 
 what else was there for me to do? " 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch was very, very unlike his 
 usual self. 
 
 In the meantime, the ball went on. Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch would have greatly liked to de- 
 
 258
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 part at once, but departure was not to be thought 
 of until the end of the mazurka. How was he 
 to give up to his deHghted antagonist? Unhap- 
 pily for Vladimir Sergyeitch, the dances were 
 in charge of a free-and-easy young gentleman 
 with long hair and a sunken chest, over which, 
 in semblance of a miniature waterfall, meandered 
 a black satin neckcloth, transfixed with a huge 
 gold pin. This young gentleman had the repu- 
 tation, throughout the entire government, of be- 
 ing a man who had assimilated, in their most 
 delicate details, all the customs and rules of the 
 highest society, although he had lived in Peters- 
 burg only six months altogether, and had not suc- 
 ceeded in penetrating any loftier heights than the 
 houses of Collegiate Assessor Sandaraki and his 
 brother-in-law. State Councillor Kostandaraki. 
 He superintended the dances at all balls, gave the 
 signal to the musicians by clapping his hands, 
 and in the midst of the roar of the trumpets and 
 the squeaking of the violins shouted : " En avant 
 deuoc! " or " Grande chaine! " or "A vous, made- 
 moiselle! " and was incessantly flying, all pale 
 and perspiring, through the hall, slipping head- 
 long, and bowing and scraping. He never began 
 the mazurka before midnight. " And that is a 
 concession,"— he was wont to say;— "in Peters- 
 burg I would keep you in torment until two 
 o'clock." 
 
 This ball seemed very long to Vladimir Ser- 
 
 259
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 gyeitch. He prowled about like a shadow from 
 hall to drawing-room, now and again exchanging 
 cold glances with his antagonist, who never 
 missed a single dance, and undertook to invite 
 Marya Pavlovna for a quadrille, but she was 
 already engaged — and a couple of times he ban- 
 died words with the anxious host, who appeared 
 to be harassed by the tedium which was written 
 on the countenance of the new guest. At last, 
 the music of the longed-for mazurka thundered 
 out. Vladimir Sergyeitch hunted up his lady, 
 brought two chairs, and seated himself with her, 
 near the end of the circle, almost opposite Stel- 
 tchmsky. 
 
 The young man who managed affairs was in 
 the first pair, as might have been expected. With 
 what a face he began the mazurka, how he 
 dragged his lady after him, how he beat the floor 
 with his foot, and twitched his head the while, — 
 all this is almost beyond the power of human pen 
 to describe. 
 
 " But it seems to me, M'sieu AstakhofF, that 
 you are bored," — began Nadezhda Alexyeevna, 
 suddenly turning to Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 "I? Not in the least. What makes you think 
 so?" 
 
 " Why, because I do from the expression of 
 your face. . . . You have never smiled a single 
 time since you arrived. I had not expected that 
 of you. It is not becoming to you positive gen- 
 
 260
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 tlemen to be misanthropical and to frown a la 
 Byron. Leave that to the authors." 
 
 " I notice, Nadezhda Alexyeevna, that you 
 frequently call me a positive man, as though 
 mockingly. It must be that you regard me as 
 the coldest and most sensible of beings, incapable 
 of anything which .... But do you know, I will 
 tell you something; a positive man is often very 
 sad at heart, but he does not consider it neces- 
 sary to display to others what is going on there 
 inside of him; he prefers to hold his peace." 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " — inquired Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna, surveying him with a glance. 
 
 " Nothing, ma'am," — replied Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch, with feigned indifference, assuming an 
 air of mystery. 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 " Really, nothing. . . . You shall know some 
 day, later on." 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna wanted to pursue her 
 questions, but at that moment a young girl, the 
 host's daughter, led up to her Steltchinsky and 
 another cavalier in blue spectacles. 
 
 "Life or death?"— she asked in French. 
 
 " Life,"— exclaimed Nadezhda Alexyeevna; 
 " I don't want death just yet." 
 
 Steltchinsky bowed; she went off with him.^ 
 
 ^ The figures in the mazurka are like those in the cotillon (which is 
 often danced the same evening), but the step is very animated and 
 original. —Translator. 
 
 261
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 The cavalier in the blue glasses, who was called 
 Death, started off with the host's daughter. Stel- 
 tchinsky had invented the two designations. 
 
 " Tell me, please, who is that Mr. Steltchin- 
 sky? "—inquired Vladimir Sergyeitch of Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna, as soon as the latter returned 
 to her place. 
 
 " He is attached to the Governor's service, and 
 is a very agreeable man. He does not belong in 
 these parts. He is somewhat of a coxcomb, but 
 that runs in the blood of all of them. I hope you 
 have not had any explanations with him on ac- 
 count of the mazurka? " 
 
 " None whatever, I assure you,"— replied Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch, with a little hesitation. 
 
 " I 'm such a forgetful creature! You can't 
 imagine! " 
 
 " I am bound to be delighted with your for- 
 getfulness: it has afforded me the pleasure of 
 dancing with you to-night." 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna gazed at him, with her 
 eyes slightly narrowed. 
 
 " Really? You find it agreeable to dance with 
 mef 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch answered her with a com- 
 pliment. Little by little he got to talking freely. 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna was always charming, and 
 particularly so that evening; Vladimir Sergye- 
 itch thought her enchanting. The thought of the 
 duel on the morrow, while it fretted liis nerves, 
 
 262
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 imparted brilliancy and vivacity to his remarks; 
 under its influence he permitted himself slight ex- 
 aggerations in the expression of his feelings. . . . 
 " I don't care! " he thought. Something myste- 
 rious, involuntarily sad, something elegantly- 
 hopeless peeped forth in all his words, in his 
 suppressed sighs, in his glances which suddenly 
 darkened. At last, he got to chattering to 
 such a degree that he began to discuss love, 
 women, his future, the manner in which he con- 
 ceived of happiness, what he demanded of 
 Fate. . . . He explained himself allegorically, 
 by hints. On the eve of his possible death, 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch flirted with Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna. 
 
 She listened to him attentively, laughed, shook 
 her head, now disputed with him, again pre- 
 tended to be incredulous. . . . The conversa- 
 tion, frequently interrupted by the approach of 
 ladies and cavaliers, took a rather strange turn 
 toward the end. . . . Vladimir Sergyeitch had 
 already begun to interrogate Nadezhda Alexye- 
 evna about herself, her character, her sympathies. 
 At first she parried the questions with a jest, 
 then, suddenly, and quite unexpectedly to Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch, she asked him when he was 
 going away. 
 
 " Whither? "—he said, in surprise. 
 
 " To your own home." 
 
 " To Sasovo? " 
 
 263
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " No, home, to your village, a hundred versts 
 from here." 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch cast down his eyes. 
 
 " I should like to go as promptly as possible," 
 — he said with a preoccupied look on his face. — 
 " To-morrow, I think .... if I am alive. For 
 I have business on hand. But why have you 
 suddenly taken it into j'^our head to ask me about 
 that?" 
 
 " Because I have! " — retorted Nadezhda Ale- 
 xyeevna. 
 
 " But what is the reason? " 
 
 "Because I have!" — she repeated. — "! am 
 surprised at the curiosity of a man who is going 
 away to-morrow, and to-day wants to find out 
 about my character. . . ." 
 
 " But, pardon me . . . ." began Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch. . . . 
 
 " Ah, here, by the way .... read this," — Na- 
 dezhda Alexyeevna interrupted him with a laugh, 
 as she handed him a motto-slip of paper from 
 bonbons which she had just taken from a small 
 table that stood near by, as she rose to meet Ma- 
 rya Pavlovna, who had stopped in front of her 
 with another lady. 
 
 Marya Pavlovna was dancing with Piotr 
 Alexyeitch. Her face was covered with a flush, 
 and was flaming, but not cheerful. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch glanced at the slip of 
 paper; thereon, in wretched French letters, was 
 printed : 
 
 264
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " Qui me neglige me perd," 
 
 He raised his eyes, and encountered Steltchin- 
 sky's gaze bent upon him. Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 smiled constrainedly, threw his elbow over the 
 back of the chair, and crossed his legs — as much 
 as to say: " I don't care for thee! " 
 
 The fiery artillery officer brought Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna up to her chair with a dash, pirou- 
 etted gently in front of her, bowed, clicked his 
 spurs, and departed. She sat down. 
 
 "Allow me to inquire," — began Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch, with pauses between his words, — " in 
 what sense I am to understand this billet? . . . ." 
 
 "But what in the world does it say?" — said 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna. — "Ah, yes! 'Qui me 
 neglige me perd/ Well! that 's an admirable 
 rule of life, which may be of service at every step. 
 In order to make a success of anything, no mat- 
 ter what, one must not neglect anything whatso- 
 ever. . . . One must endeavour to obtain every- 
 thing; perhaps one will obtain something. But 
 I am ridiculous. I .... I am talking to you, 
 a practical man, about rules of life. . . ." 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna burst into a laugh, and 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch strove, in vain, to the very 
 end of the mazurka, to renew their previous con- 
 versation. Nadezhda Alexyeevna avoided it with 
 the perversity of a capricious child. Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch talked to her about his sentiments, 
 and she either did not reply to him at all, or else 
 she called his attention to the gowns of the ladies, 
 
 265
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 to the ridiculous faces of some of the men, to the 
 skill with which her brother danced, to the beauty 
 of Marya Pavlovna; she began to talk about 
 music, about the day before, about Egor Kapi- 
 tonitch and his wife, Matryona Markovna .... 
 and only at the very close of the mazurka, when 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch was beginning to make her 
 his farewell bow, did she say, with an ironical 
 smile on her lips and in her eyes : 
 
 " So you are positively going to-morrow? " 
 "Yes; and very far away, perhaps," — said 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch, significantly. 
 " I wish you a happy journey." 
 And Nadezhda Alexyeevna swiftly ap- 
 proached her brother, merrily whispered some- 
 thing in his ear, then asked aloud : 
 
 " Grateful to me? Yes? art thou not? other- 
 wise he would have asked her for the mazurka." 
 He shrugged his shoulders, and said : 
 " Nevertheless, nothing will come of it. . . ." 
 She led him oiF into the drawing-room. 
 "The flirt! "—thought Vladimir Sergyeitch, 
 and taking his hat in his hand, he slipped un- 
 noticed from the hall, hunted up his footman, 
 to whom he had previously given orders to hold 
 himself in readiness, and was already donning 
 his overcoat, when suddenly, to his intense sur- 
 prise, the lackey informed him that it was im- 
 possible to depart, as the coachman, in some 
 unknown manner, had drunk to intoxication, 
 
 266
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 and that it was utterly impossible to arouse him. 
 After cursing the coachman in a remarkably 
 brief but extremely powerful manner (this took 
 place in the anteroom, outside witnesses were 
 present), and informing his footman that if the 
 coachman was not in proper condition by day- 
 light to-morrow, then no one in the world would 
 be capable of picturing to himself what the result 
 would be, Vladimir Sergyeitch returned to the 
 hall, and requested the major-domo to allot him 
 a chamber, without waiting for supper, which 
 was already prepared in the drawing-room. The 
 master of the house suddenly popped up, as it 
 were, out of the floor, at Vladimir Sergyeitch's 
 very elbow ( Gavrila Stepanitch wore boots with- 
 out heels, and therefore moved about without the 
 slightest sound), and began to hold him back, 
 assuring him that there would be caviar of the 
 very best quality for supper; but Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch excused himself on the plea of a head- 
 ache. Half an hour later he was lying in a 
 small bed, under a short coverlet, and trying to 
 get to sleep. 
 
 But he could not get to sleep. Toss as he 
 would from side to side, strive as he would to 
 think of something else, the figure of Steltchin- 
 sky importunately towered up before him. . . . 
 Now he is taking aim . . . now he has fired. 
 . . . . " Astakhoff is killed," says some one. 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch could not be called a brave 
 
 267
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 /nan, yet he was no coward; but even the 
 thought of a duel, no matter with whom, had 
 never once entered his head. . . . Fight! with 
 his good sense, peaceable disposition, respect 
 for the conventions, dreams of future prosperity, 
 and an advantageous marriage! If it had not 
 been a question of his own person, he would 
 have laughed heartily, so stupid and ridiculous 
 did this aiFair seem to him. Fight! with whom, 
 and about what? ! 
 
 "Phew! damn it! what nonsense! "—he 
 exclaimed involuntarily aloud. — " Well, and 
 what if he really does kill me?"— he con- 
 tinued his meditations;—" I must take measures, 
 make arrangements. . . . Who will mourn for 
 me?" 
 
 And in vexation he closed his eyes, which were 
 staringly-wide open, drew the coverlet up 
 around his neck .... but could not get to sleep, 
 nevertheless. . . . 
 
 Dawn was already breaking, and exhausted 
 with the fever of insomnia, Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 was beginning to fall into a doze, when suddenly 
 he felt some weight or other on his feet. He 
 opened his eyes. . . . On his bed sat VeretyefF. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch was greatly amazed, es- 
 pecially when he noticed that Veretyeff had no 
 coat on, that beneath his unbuttoned shirt his 
 bare breast was visible, that his hair was tum- 
 bling over his forehead, and that his very face 
 
 268
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 appeared changed. Vladimir Sergyeitch got 
 half-way out of bed. . . . 
 
 " Allow me to ask . . . ." he began, throwing 
 his hands apart. . . . 
 
 " I have come to you," — said Veretyeff, in a 
 hoarse voice; — " excuse me for coming in such a 
 guise. . . . We have been drinking a bit yonder. 
 I wanted to put you at ease. I said to myself: 
 ' Yonder lies a gentleman who, in all probability, 
 cannot get to sleep. — Let 's help him.' — Under- 
 stand ; you are not going to fight to-morrow, and 
 can go to sleep " 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch was still more amazed 
 than before. 
 
 " What was that you said? " — he muttered. 
 
 "Yes; that has all been adjusted," — went on 
 Veretyeff; — "that gentleman from the banks 
 of the Visla .... Steltchinsky .... makes 
 his apologies to you .... to-morrow you will 
 receive a letter. ... I repeat to you: — all is set- 
 tled. . . . Snore away." 
 
 So saying, Veretyeff rose, and directed his 
 course, with unsteady steps, toward the door. 
 
 " But permit me, permit me," — began Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch. — " How could you have found 
 out, and how can I believe . . . ." 
 
 " Akh! you think that I . . . . you know . . . ." 
 (and he reeled forward slightly) . ..." I tell 
 you ... he will send a letter to you to-morrow. 
 .... You do not arouse any particular sym- 
 
 269
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 pathy in me, but magnanimity is my weak side. 
 But what 's the use of talking. ... It 's all 
 nonsense anyway. . . . But confess," — he added, 
 with a wink; — "you were pretty well scared, 
 were n't you, hey ? " 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch flew into a rage. 
 
 " Permit me, in conclusion, my dear sir," — said 
 he. . . . 
 
 " Well, good, good," — VeretyeiF interrupted 
 him with a good-natured smile. — " Don't fly into 
 a passion. Evidently you are not aware that no 
 ball ever takes place without that sort of thing. 
 That 's the established rule. It never amounts 
 to anything. Who feels like exposing his brow ? 
 Well, and why not bluster, hey? at newcomers, 
 for instance ? In vino Veritas. However, neither 
 you nor I know Latin. But I see by your face 
 that you are sleepy. I wish you good night, Mr. 
 Positive Man, well-intentioned mortal. Accept 
 this wish from another mortal who is n't worth 
 a brass farthing himself. Addio, mio caro!" 
 
 And Veretyefl" left the room. 
 
 "The devil knows what this means!"— ex- 
 claimed Vladimir Sergyeitch, after a brief pause, 
 banging his fist into the pillow;— "no one ever 
 heard the like! . . . this must be cleared up! I 
 won't tolerate this! " 
 
 Nevertheless, five minutes later he was already 
 sleeping softly and profoundly. . . . Danger 
 
 270
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 escaped fills the soul of man with sweetness, and 
 softens it. 
 
 This is what had taken place before that un- 
 anticipated nocturnal interview between Vere- 
 tyeff and Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 In Gavrila Stepanitch's house lived his grand- 
 nephew, who occupied bachelor quarters in the 
 lower story. When there were balls on hand, 
 the young men dropped in at his rooms between 
 the dances, to smoke a hasty pipe, and after 
 supper they assembled there for a friendly 
 drinking-bout. A good many of the guests had 
 dropped in on him that night. Steltchinsky and 
 VeretyefF were among the number; Ivan Ilitch, 
 The Folding Soul, also wandered in there in the 
 wake of the others. They brewed a punch. Al- 
 though Ivan Ilitch had promised Astakhoff that 
 he would not mention the impending duel to any 
 one whomsoever, yet, when VeretyefF acciden- 
 tally asked him what he had been talking about 
 with that glum fellow (Veretyeff never alluded 
 to Astakhoff otherwise) , The Folding Soul could 
 not contain himself, and repeated his entire con- 
 versation with Vladimir Sergyeitch, word for 
 word. 
 
 Veretyeff burst out laughing, then lapsed into 
 meditation. 
 
 " But with whom is he going to fight? " — he 
 asked. 
 
 271
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " That 's what I cannot say,"— returned Ivan 
 Intch. 
 
 " At all events, with whom has he been talk- 
 ing? 
 
 "With different people. . . . With Egor 
 Kapitonitch. It cannot be that he is going to 
 fight with him? " 
 
 VeretyefF went away from Ivan Ilitch. 
 
 So, then, they made a punch, and began to 
 drink. VeretyefF was sitting in the most con- 
 spicuous place. Jolly and profligate, he held the 
 pre-eminence in gatherings of young men. He 
 threw off his waistcoat and neckcloth. He was 
 asked to sing; he took a guitar and sang several 
 songs. Heads began to wax rather hot; the 
 young men began to propose toasts. Suddenly 
 Steltchinsky, all red in the face, sprang upon 
 the table, and elevating his glass high above his 
 head, exclaimed loudly : 
 
 " To the health .... of I know whom,"— 
 he hastily caught himself up, drank off his liquOT, 
 and smashed his glass on the floor, adding:— 
 " May my foe be shivered into just such pieces 
 to-morrow! " 
 
 VeretyefF, who had long had his eye on him, 
 swiftly raised his head. . . . 
 
 " Steltchinsky,"— said he,—" in the first place, 
 get off the table ; that 's indecorous, and you have 
 very bad boots into the bargain ; and, in the second 
 place, come hither, I will tell thee something." 
 
 272
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 He led him aside. 
 
 " Hearken, brother ; I know that thou art go- 
 ing to fight to-morrow with that gentleman from 
 Petersburg." 
 
 Steltchinsky started. 
 
 " How .... who told thee? " 
 
 " I tell thee it is so. And I also know on 
 whose account thou art going to fight." 
 
 " Who is it? I am curious to know." 
 
 " Akh, get out with thee, thou Talleyrand! 
 My sister's, of course. Come, come, don't pre- 
 tend to be surprised. It gives you a goose- 
 like expression. I can't imagine how this 
 has come about, but it is a fact. That will 
 do, my good fellow," — pursued Veretyeff. — 
 " What 's the use of shamming? I know, you 
 see, that you have been paying court to her this 
 long time." 
 
 " But, nevertheless, that does not prove . . . ." 
 
 " Stop, if you please. But hearken to what 
 I am about to say to you. I won't permit that 
 duel under any circumstances whatsoever. Dost 
 understand? All this folly will descend upon 
 my sister. Excuse me: so long as I am alive 
 .... that shall not be. As for thou and I, we 
 shall perish— we 're on the road to it; but she 
 must live a long time yet, and live happily. Yes, 
 I swear,"— he added, with sudden heat, — "that 
 I will betray all others, even those who might 
 be ready to sacrifice everything for me, but I will 
 
 273
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 not permit any one to touch a single hair of her 
 head." 
 
 Steltchinsky emitted a forced laugh. 
 
 " Thou art drunk, my dear fellow, and art 
 raving .... that 's all." 
 
 " And art not thou, I 'd like to know? But 
 whether I am drunk or not, is a matter of not 
 the slightest consequence. But I 'm talking 
 business. Thou shalt not fight with that gentle- 
 man, I guarantee that. And what in the world 
 possessed thee to have anything to do with him? 
 Hast grown jealous, pray? Well, those speak 
 the truth who say that men in love are stupid! 
 Why she danced with him simply in order to pre- 
 vent his inviting .... Well, but that 's not the 
 point. But this duel shall not take place." 
 
 " H'm! I should like to see how thou wilt pre- 
 vent me? " 
 
 "Well, then, this way: if thou dost not in- 
 stantly give me thy word to renounce this duel, 
 I will fight with thee myself." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 " My dear fellow, entertain no doubt on that 
 score. I will insult thee on the spot, my little 
 friend, in the presence of every one, in the most 
 fantastic manner, and then fight thee across 
 a handkerchief, if thou wilt. But I think that 
 will be disagreeable to thee, for many reasons, 
 hey? " 
 
 Steltchinsky flared up, began to say that this 
 
 274
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 was intimidation/ that he would not permit any 
 one to meddle with his affairs, that he would not 
 stick at anything .... and wound up by sub- 
 mitting, and renouncing all attempts on the life 
 of Vladimir Sergyeitch. VeretyefF embraced 
 him, and half an hour had not elapsed, before the 
 two had already drunk Briiderschaft for the 
 tenth time, — that is to say, they drank with arms 
 interlocked. . . . The 3'^oung man who had acted 
 as floor-manager of the ball also drank Briider- 
 schaft with them, and at first clung close to them, 
 but finally fell asleep in the most innocent man- 
 ner, and lay for a long time on his back in a con- 
 dition of complete insensibility. . . . The ex- 
 pression of his tiny, pale face was both amusing 
 and pitiful. . . . Good heavens! what would 
 those fashionable ladies, his acquaintances, have 
 said, if they had beheld him in that condition! 
 But, luckily for him, he was not acquainted with 
 a single fashionable lady. 
 
 Ivan Ilitch also distinguished himself on that 
 night. First he amazed the guests by suddenly 
 striking up : " In the country a Baron once 
 dwelt." 
 
 " The hawfinch! The hawfinch has begun to 
 sing!" — shouted all. "When has it ever hap- 
 pened that a hawfinch has sung by night? " 
 
 '' As though I knew only one song," — retorted 
 
 ^ He uses an impromptu Russification of a foreign word: 
 intimiddtzit/a. —Trassu^tor. 
 
 275
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Ivan Ilitch, who was heated with liquor; — " I 
 know some more, too." 
 
 " Come, come, come, show us your art." 
 Ivan Ilitch maintained silence for a while, and 
 suddenly struck up in a bass voice: " Krambam- 
 buli,^ bequest of our fathers!" but so incoher- 
 ently and strangely, that a general outburst of 
 laughter immediately drowned his voice, and he 
 fell silent. When all had dispersed, VeretyefF 
 betook himself to Vladimir Sergyeitch, and the 
 brief conversation already reported, ensued be- 
 tween them. 
 
 On the following day, Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 drove off to his own Sasovo very early. He 
 passed the whole morning in a state of excite- 
 ment, came near mistaking a passing merchant 
 for a second, and breathed freely only when his 
 lackey brought him a letter from Steltchinsky. 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch perused that letter several 
 times,— it was very adroitly worded. . . . Stel- 
 tchinsky began with the words : " La nuit parte 
 conseil, 3Ionsieurf'—mside no excuses whatever, 
 because, in his opinion, he had not insulted his 
 antagonist in any way; but admitted that he 
 had been somewhat irritated on the preceding 
 evening, and wound up with the statement that 
 he held himself entirely at the disposition of Mr. 
 AstakhofF Cde Mr Astdkhoff") , but no longer 
 demanded satisfaction himself. After having 
 
 1 A mixed drink. —Translator. 
 
 276
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 composed and despatched a reply, which was 
 filled, simultaneously with courtesy which bor- 
 dered on playfulness, and a sense of dignity, in 
 which, however, no trace of braggadocio was per- 
 ceptible, Vladimir Sergyeitch sat down to din- 
 ner, rubbing his hands, ate with great satisfac- 
 tion, and immediately afterward set off, without 
 having even sent relays on in advance. The 
 road along which he drove passed at a distance 
 of four versts from Ipatoff 's manor. . . . Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch looked at it. 
 
 "Farewell, region of dead calm!"— he said 
 with a smile. 
 
 The images of Nadezhda Alexyeevna and Ma- 
 rya Pavlovna presented themselves for a moment 
 to his imagination ; he dismissed them with a wave 
 of his hand, and sank into a doze. 
 
 VI 
 
 More than three months had passed. Autumn 
 had long since set in ; the yellow forests had grown 
 bare, the tomtits had arrived, and— unfailing 
 sign of the near approach of winter— the wind 
 had begun to howl and wail. But there had been 
 no heavy rains, as yet, and mud had not suc- 
 ceeded in spreading itself over the roads. Tak- 
 ing advantage of this circumstance, Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch set out for the government capital, 
 
 277
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 for the purpose of winding up several matters of 
 business. He spent the morning in driving about, 
 and in the evening went to the club. In the vast, 
 gloomy hall of the club he encountered several 
 acquaintances, and, among others, the old retired 
 captain of cavalry Flitch, a busybody, wit, gam- 
 bler, and gossip, well known to every one. Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch entered into conversation with 
 him. 
 
 "Ah, by the way! "—suddenly exclaimed the 
 retired cavalry-captain ; "an acquaintance of 
 yours passed through here the other day, and left 
 her compliments for you." 
 
 "Who was she?" 
 
 " Madame Steltchinsky." 
 
 " I don't know any Madame Steltchinsky." 
 
 " You knew her as a girl. . . . She was born 
 VeretyefF. . . . Nadezhda Alexyeevna. Her 
 husband served our Governor. You must have 
 seen him also. ... A lively man, with a mous- 
 tache. . . . He 's hooked a splendid woman, with 
 money to boot." 
 
 " You don't say so," — said Vladimir Sergye- 
 itch. — " So she has married him. . . . H'm! 
 And where have they gone? " 
 
 " To Petersburg. She also bade me remind 
 you of a certain bonbon motto. . . . What sort 
 of a motto was it, allow me to inquire? " 
 
 And the old gossip thrust forward his sharp 
 nose. 
 
 278
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " I don't remember, really; some jest or other," 
 —returned Vladimir Sergyeitch. — "But permit 
 me to ask, where is her brother now? " 
 
 " Piotr? Well, he 's in a bad way." 
 Mr. Flitch rolled up his small, foxy eyes, and 
 heaved a sigh. 
 
 " Why, what 's the matter? "—asked Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch. 
 
 *' He has taken to dissipation! He 's a ruined 
 man." 
 
 " But where is he now^? " 
 
 "It is absolutely unknown where he is. He 
 went off somewhere or other after a gipsy girl; 
 that 's the most certain thing of all. He 's not in 
 this government, I '11 guarantee that." 
 
 " And does old IpatofF still live there? " 
 
 " Mikhail Nikolaitch? That eccentric old fel- 
 low? Yes, he still lives there." 
 
 " And is everything in his household .... as 
 it used to be? " 
 
 " Certainly, certainly. Here now, why don't 
 you marry his sister-in-law ? She 's not a woman, 
 you know, she 's simply a monument, really. 
 Ha, ha! People have already been talking 
 among us .... ' why,' say they . . . ." 
 
 " You don't say so, sir,"— articulated Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch, narrowing his eyes. 
 
 At that moment. Flitch was invited to a card- 
 game, and the conversation terminated. 
 
 Vladimir Sergj'^eitch had intended to return 
 
 279
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 home promptly; but suddenly he received by 
 special messenger a report from the overseer, that 
 six of the peasants' homesteads had burned down 
 in Sasovo, and he decided to go thither himself. 
 The distance from the government capital to Sa- 
 sovo was reckoned at sixty versts. Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch arrived toward evening at the wing with 
 which the reader is already acquainted, immedi- 
 ately gave orders that the overseer and clerk 
 should be summoned, scolded them both in proper 
 fashion, inspected the scene of the conflagration 
 next morning, took the necessary measures, and 
 after dinner, after some wavering, set off to 
 visit IpatofF. Vladimir Sergyeitch would have 
 remained at home, had he not heard from Flitch 
 of Nadezhda Alexyeevna's departure ; he did not 
 wish to meet her ; but he was not averse to taking 
 another look at Marya Pavlovna. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch, as on the occasion of his 
 first visit, found IpatofF busy at draughts with 
 The Folding Soul. The old man was delighted 
 to see him; yet it seemed to Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 as though his face were troubled, and his speech 
 did not flow freely and readily as of old. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch exchanged a silent glance 
 with Ivan llitch. Both winced a little; but they 
 speedily recovered their serenity. 
 
 " Are all your family well? " — inquired Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Yes, thank God, I thank you sincerely,"— 
 
 280
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 replied IpatofF.— " Only Marya Pavlovna is n't 
 quite . . . you know, she stays in her room most 
 of the time." 
 
 " Has she caught cold? " 
 
 " No . . . she just likes to. She will make her 
 appearance at tea." 
 
 " And Egor Kapitonitch? What is he doing?" 
 
 " Akh! Egor Kapitonitch is a dead man. His 
 wife has died." 
 
 "It cannot be!" 
 
 " She died in twenty-four hours, of cholera. 
 You would n't know him now, he has become 
 simply unrecognisable. ' Without Matryona 
 Markovna,' he says, ' life is a burden to me. I 
 shall die,' he says, ' and God be thanked,' he says ; 
 ' I don't wish to live,' says he. Yes, he 's done 
 for, poor fellow." 
 
 " Akh! good heavens, how unpleasant that is!" 
 —exclaimed Vladimir Sergyeitch.— "Poor Egor 
 Kapitonitch! " 
 
 All were silent for a time. 
 
 " I hear that your pretty neighbour has mar- 
 ried," — remarked Vladimir Sergyeitch, flushing 
 faintly. 
 
 " Nadezhda Alexyeevna? Yes, she has." 
 
 Ipatoif darted a sidelong glance at Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch. 
 
 " Certainly .... certainly, she has married 
 and gone away." 
 
 "To Petersburg?" 
 
 281
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " To St. Petersburg." 
 
 " Marya Pavlovna must miss her, I think. I 
 beheve they were great friends." 
 
 " Of course she misses her. That cannot be 
 avoided. But as for friendship, I '11 just tell 
 you, that the friendship of girls is even worse 
 than the friendship of men. So long as they are 
 face to face, it 's all right; but, otherwise, it van- 
 ishes." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 "Yes, by Heaven, 't is so! Take Nadezhda 
 Alexyeevna, for example. She has n't written 
 to us since she went away ; but how she promised, 
 even vowed that she would! In truth, she 's in 
 no mood for that now." 
 
 " And has she been gone long? " 
 
 " Yes ; it must be fully six weeks. She hur- 
 ried off on the very day after the wedding, for- 
 eign fashion." 
 
 " I hear that her brother is no longer here, 
 either? "—said Vladimir Sergyeitch, after a brief 
 pause. 
 
 " No; he is not. They are city folk, you see; 
 as though they would live long in the country ! " 
 
 " And does no one know where he has gone? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " He just went into a rage, and — slap-bang 
 on the ear," remarked Ivan Ilitch. 
 
 " He just went into a rage, and — slap-bang on 
 the ear," repeated IpatofF. " Well, and how about 
 
 282
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 yourself, Vladimir Sergyeitch,— what nice things 
 have you been doing? "—he added, wheeling 
 round on his chair. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch began to tell about him- 
 self; IpatofF listened and listened to him, and at 
 last exclaimed: 
 
 " But why does n't Marya Pavlovna come? 
 Thou hadst better go for her, Ivan Ilitch." 
 
 Ivan Ilitch left the room, and returning, re- 
 ported that Marya Pavlovna would be there di- 
 rectly. 
 
 " What 's the matter? Has she got a head- 
 ache? "—inquired IpatofF, in an undertone. 
 
 " Yes," replied Ivan Ilitch. 
 
 The door opened, and Marya Pavlovna en- 
 tered. Vladimir Sergyeitch rose, bowed, and 
 could not utter a word, so great was his amaze- 
 ment: so changed was Marya Pavlovna since 
 he had seen her the last time! The rosy 
 bloom had vanished from her emaciated 
 cheeks; a broad black ring encircled her eyes; 
 her lips were bitterly compressed; her whole 
 face, impassive and dark, seemed to have become 
 petrified. 
 
 She raised her eyes, and there was no spark 
 in them. 
 
 " How do you feel now? " Ipatoff asked her. 
 
 " I am well," — she replied; and sat down at the 
 table, on which the samovar was already bub- 
 bling. 
 
 283
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch was pretty thoroughly 
 bored that evening. But no one was in good 
 spirits. The conversation persisted in taking a 
 cheerless turn. 
 
 " Just listen," — said Ipatoif, among other 
 things, as he lent an ear to the howling of the 
 wind;— "what notes it emits! The summer is 
 long since past; and here is autumn passing, too, 
 and winter is at the door. Again we shall be 
 buried in snow-drifts. I hope the snow will fall 
 very soon. Otherwise, when you go out into the 
 garden, melancholy descends upon you. . . . Just 
 as though there were some sort of a ruin there. 
 The branches of the trees clash together. . . . 
 Yes, the fine days are over! " 
 
 " They are over,"— repeated Ivan Ilitch. 
 
 Marya Pavlovna stared silently out of the win- 
 dow. 
 
 " God willing, they will return,"— remarked 
 Ipatoff. 
 
 No one answered him. 
 
 " Do you remember how finely they sang songs 
 here that time? "—said Vladimir Sergyeitch. 
 
 " I should think they did,"— replied the old 
 man, with a sigh. 
 
 " But you might sing to us,"— went on Vla- 
 dimir Sergyeitch, turning to Marya Pavlovna; 
 — " you have such a fine voice." 
 
 She did not answer him. 
 
 " And how is your mother? "—Vladimir Ser- 
 
 284
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 gyeitch inquired of IpatoiF, not knowing what 
 to talk about. 
 
 " Thank God! she gets on nicely, considering 
 her ailments. She came over in her little car- 
 riage to-day. She 's a broken tree, I must tell 
 you — creak, creak, and the first you know, some 
 young, strong sapling falls over; but she goes 
 on standing and standing. Ekh, ha, ha!" 
 
 Marya Pavlovna dropped her hands in her lap, 
 and bowed her head. 
 
 " And, nevertheless, her existence is hard," — 
 began IpatofF again;— " rightly is it said: 'old 
 age is no joy.' " 
 
 " And there 's no joy in being young," — said 
 Marya Pavlovna, as though to herself. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch would have liked to re- 
 turn home that night, but it was so dark out of 
 doors that he could not make up his mind to 
 set out. He was assigned to the same chamber, 
 up-stairs, in which, three months previously, he 
 had passed a troubled night, thanks to Egor 
 Kapitonitch. ... 
 
 "Does he snore now? "—thought Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch, as he recalled his drilling of his ser- 
 vant, and the sudden appearance of Marya Pav- 
 lovna in the garden. . . . 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch walked to the window, 
 and laid his brow against the cold glass. His 
 own face gazed dimly at him from out of doors, 
 as though his eyes were riveted upon a black cur- 
 
 285
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 tain, and it was only after a considerable time 
 that he was able to make out against the star- 
 less sky the branches of the trees, writhing wildly 
 in the gloom. They were harassed by a tur- 
 bulent wind. 
 
 Suddenly it seemed to Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 as though something white had flashed along the 
 ground. . . . He gazed more intently, laughed, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and exclaiming in an un- 
 dertone: "That 's what imagination will do!" 
 got into bed. 
 
 He fell asleep very soon ; but he was not fated 
 to pass a quiet night on this occasion either. He 
 was awakened by a manning to and fro, which 
 arose in the house. . . . He raised his head from 
 the pillow. . . . Agitated voices, exclamations, 
 hurried footsteps were audible, doors were bang- 
 ing ; now the sound of women weeping rang out, 
 shouts were set up in the garden, other cries far- 
 ther off responded. . . . The uproar in the house 
 increased, and became more noisy with every mo- 
 ment. . . . "Fire!" flashed through Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch's mind. In alarm he sprang from 
 his bed, and rushed to the window; but there 
 was no redness in the sky; only, in the garden, 
 points of flame were moving briskly along the 
 paths,— caused by people running about with 
 lanterns. Vladimir Sergyeitch went quickly to 
 the door, opened it, and ran directly into Ivan 
 Ilitch. Pale, dishevelled, half -clothed, the lat- 
 
 286
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 ter was dashing onward, without himself knowing 
 \vhither. 
 
 "What is it? What has happened? "—in- 
 quired Vladimir Sergyeitch, excitedly, seizing 
 him by the arm. 
 
 " She has disappeared; she has thrown herself 
 into the water," — replied Ivan Ilitch, in a chok- 
 ing voice. 
 
 " Who has thrown herself into the water? Who 
 has disappeared?" 
 
 " Marya Pavlovna! Who else could it be but 
 Marya Pavlovna ? She has perished, the darling ! 
 Help! Good heavens, let us run as fast as we 
 can! Be quick, my dear people ! " 
 
 And Ivan Ilitch rushed down the stairs. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch put on his shoes somehow, 
 threw his cloak over his shoulders, and ran after 
 him. 
 
 In the house he no longer encountered any one, 
 all had hastened out into the garden; only the 
 little girls, IpatofF's daughters, met him in the 
 corridor, near the anteroom; deadly pale with 
 terror, they stood there in their little white petti- 
 coats, with clasped hands and bare feet, beside 
 a night-lamp set on the floor. Through the draw- 
 ing-room, past an overturned table, flew Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch to the terrace. Through the 
 grove, in the direction of the dam, light and 
 shadows were flashing. . . . 
 
 " Go for boat-hooks! Go for boat-hooks as 
 
 287
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 quickly as possible! "—IpatofF's voice could be 
 heard shouting. 
 
 " A net, a net, a boat! "—shouted other voices. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch ran in the direction of the 
 shouts. He found IpatofF on the shore of the 
 pond ; a lantern hung on a bough brilliantly illu- 
 minated the old man's grey head. He was wring- 
 ing his hands, and reeling like a drunken man; 
 by his side, a woman lay writhing and sobbing 
 on the grass; round about men were bustling. 
 Ivan Ilitch had already advanced into the water 
 up to his knees, and was feeling the bottom with 
 a pole; a coachman was undressing, trembling 
 all over as he did so; two men were dragging a 
 boat along the shore ; a sharp trampling of hoofs 
 was audible along the village street. . . . The wind 
 swept past with a shriek, as though endeavouring 
 to quench the lantern, while the pond plashed 
 noisily, darkling in a menacing way. . . . 
 
 "What do I hear? " — exclaimed Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch, rushing up to IpatofF. — " Is it possible? " 
 
 "The boat-hooks — fetch the boat-hooks!" — 
 moaned the old man by way of reply to him. . . . 
 
 " But good gracious, perhaps you are mistaken, 
 Mikhail Nikolaitch. . . ." 
 
 "No, mistaken indeed!" — said the woman 
 who was lying on the grass, Marya Pavlovna's 
 maid, in a tearful voice. " Unlucky creature that 
 I am, I heard her myself, the darling, throw her- 
 self into the water, and struggling in the water, 
 
 288
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 and screaming: * Save me I' and then, once more: 
 'Save me!'" 
 
 *' Why did n't you prevent her, pray? " 
 " But how was I to prevent her, dear little 
 father, my lord? Why, when I discovered it, she 
 was no longer in her room, but my heart had a 
 foreboding, you know; these last days she has 
 been so sad all the time, and has said nothing ; so 
 I knew how it was, and rushed straight into the 
 garden, just as though some one had made me 
 do it ; and suddenly I heard something go splash ! 
 into the water: ' Save me! ' I heard the cry: ' Save 
 me !'.... Okh, my darling, light of my eyes ! " 
 " But perhaps it only seemed so to thee ! " 
 ** Seemed so, forsooth! But where is she? what 
 has become of her? " 
 
 " So that is what looked white to me in the 
 gloom," thought Vladimir Sergyeitch. . . . 
 
 In the meanwhile, men had run up with boat- 
 hooks, dragged thither a net, and begun to spread 
 it out on the grass, a great throng of people had 
 assembled, a commotion had arisen, and a jost- 
 hng .... the coachman seized one boat-hook, 
 the village elder seized another, both sprang into 
 the boat, put off, and set to searching the water 
 with the hooks; the people on the shore lighted 
 them. Strange and dreadful did their move- 
 ments seem, and their shadows in the gloom, 
 above the agitated pond, in the dim and uncertain 
 light of the lanterns. 
 
 289
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 "He . . . here, the hook has caught!" — sud- 
 denly cried the coachman. 
 
 All stood stock-still where they were. 
 
 The coachman pulled the hook toward him, and 
 bent over. . . . Something horned and black 
 slowly came to the surface. . . . 
 
 " A tree-stump,"— said the coachman, pulling 
 away the hook. 
 
 " But come back, come back! " — they shouted 
 to him from the shore. — " Thou wilt accomplish 
 nothing with the hooks; thou must use the 
 net." 
 
 " Yes, yes, the net! "—chimed in others. 
 
 " Stop," — said the elder; — " I 've got hold of 
 something also .... something soft, appar- 
 ently," — he added, after a brief pause. 
 
 A white spot made its appearance alongside 
 the boat. . . . 
 
 "The young lady!" — suddenly shouted the 
 elder.-'"Tisshe!" 
 
 He was not mistaken. . . . The hook had 
 caught Marya Pavlovna by the sleeve of her 
 gown. The coachman immediately seized her, 
 dragged her out of the water .... in a couple 
 of powerful strokes the boat was at the shore. 
 .... IpatofF, Ivan Hitch, Vladimir Sergyeitch, 
 all rushed to Marya Pavlovna, raised her up, 
 bore her home in their arms, immediately un- 
 dressed her, and began to roll her, and warm her. 
 But all their efforts, their exertions, 
 
 290 
 
 • • • »
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 proved vain. . . . Marya Pavlovna did not come 
 to herself. . . . Life had ah'eady left her. 
 
 Early on the following morning, Vladimir 
 
 Sergyeitch left Ipatovka; before his departure, 
 he went to bid farewell to the dead woman. 
 She was lying on the table in the drawing-room 
 in a white gown. . . . Her thick hair was not yet 
 entirely dry, a sort of mournful surprise was ex- 
 pressed on her pale face, which had not had time 
 to grow distorted; her parted lips seemed to be 
 trying to speak, and ask something; . . . her 
 hands, convulsively clasped, as though with grief, 
 were pressed tight to her breast. . . . But with what- 
 ever sorrowful thought the poor drowned girl had 
 perished, death had laid upon her the seal of its 
 eternal silence and peace .... and who under- 
 stands what a dead face expresses during those 
 few moments when, for the last time, it meets the 
 glance of the living before it vanishes forever 
 and is destroyed in the grave? 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch stood for a while in deco- 
 rous meditation before the body of Marya Pa- 
 vlovna, crossed himself thrice, and left the room, 
 without having noticed Ivan Ilitch who was 
 weeping softly in one corner. . . . And he 
 was not the only one who wept that day: 
 all the servants in the house wept bitterly: 
 Marya Pavlovna had left a good memory be- 
 hind her. 
 
 The following is what old Ipatoff wrote, a 
 
 291
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 week later, in reply to a letter which had come, 
 at last, from Nadezhda Alexyeevna : 
 
 " One week ago, dear Madam, Nadezhda Alexyeevna, 
 my unhappy sister-in-law, your acquaintance, Marya 
 Pa vlovna, wilfully ended her own life, by throwing herself 
 by night into the pond, and we have already committed 
 her body to the earth. She decided upon this sad and ter- 
 rible deed, without having bidden me farewell, without 
 leaving even a letter or so much as a note, to declare her 
 last will. . . . But you know better than any one else, 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna, on whose soul this great and 
 deadly sin must fall! May the Lord God judge your 
 brother, for my sister-in-law could not cease to love him, 
 nor survive the separation. . . ." 
 
 Nadezhda Alexyeevna received this letter in 
 Italy, whither she had gone with her husband. 
 Count de Steltchmsky, as he was called in all the 
 hotels. He did not visit hotels alone, however; 
 he was frequently seen in gambling-houses, in 
 the Kur-Saal at the baths. ... At first he lost 
 a great deal of money, then he ceased to lose, and 
 his face assumed a peculiar expression, not pre- 
 cisely suspicious, nor yet precisely insolent, like 
 that which a man has who unexpectedly gets in- 
 volved in scandals. . . . He saw his wife rarely. 
 But Nadezhda Alexyeevna did not languish in 
 his absence. She developed a passion for paint- 
 ing and the fine arts. She associated chiefly with 
 artists, and was fond of discussing the beautiful 
 
 292
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 with young men. IpatofF's letter grieved her 
 greatly, but did not prevent her going that same 
 day to " the Dogs' Cave," to see how the poor 
 animals suffocated when immersed in sulphur 
 fumes. 
 
 She did not go alone. She was escorted by 
 divers cavaliers. Among their number, a certain 
 Mr. Popelin, an artist— a Frenchman, who had 
 not finished his course — with a small beard, and 
 dressed in a checked sack-coat, was the most 
 agreeable. He sang the newest romances in a 
 thin tenor voice, made very free-and-easy jokes, 
 and although he was gaunt of form, yet he ate 
 a very great deal. 
 
 VII 
 
 It was a sunny, cold January day; a multitude 
 of people were strolling on the Nevsky Pros- 
 pekt. The clock on the tower of the city hall 
 marked three o'clock. Along the broad stone 
 slabs, strewn with yellow sand, was walking, 
 among others, our acquaintance Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch Astakhoff. He has grown very virile 
 since we parted from him; his face is framed in 
 whiskers, and he has grown plump all over, but 
 he has not aged. He was moving after the 
 crowd at a leisurely pace, and now and then 
 casting a glance about him ; he was expecting his 
 
 293
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 wife; she had preferred to drive up in the car- 
 riage with her mother. Vladimir Sergyeitch mar- 
 ried five years ago, precisely in the manner which 
 he had always desired: his wife was wealthy, and 
 with the best of connections. Courteously lifting 
 his splendidly brushed hat when he met his nu- 
 merous acquaintances, Vladimir Sergyeitch was 
 still stepping out with the free stride of a man 
 who is satisfied with his lot, when suddenly, just 
 at the Passage,^ he came near colliding with a 
 gentleman in a Spanish cloak and foraging-cap, 
 with a decidedly worn face, a dyed moustache, 
 and large, swollen eyes. Vladimir Sergyeitch 
 drew aside with dignity, but the gentleman in the 
 foraging-cap glanced at him, and suddenly ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Ah! Mr. Astakhoff, how do you do? " 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch made no reply, and 
 stopped short in surprise. He could not com- 
 prehend how a gentleman who could bring him- 
 self to walk on the Nevsky in a foraging-cap 
 could be acquainted with his name. 
 
 "You do not recognise me,"— pursued the gen- 
 tleman in the cap:—" I saw you eight years ago, 
 in the country, in the T*** Government, at the 
 IpatofFs'. My name is Veretyeff ." 
 
 "Akh! Good heavens! excuse me!"— ex- 
 
 ^A large collection of shops, under one roof, extending from the 
 Nevsky Prospekt to the Bolshaya Italyanskaya ("Great Italian 
 Street"), in St. Petersburg.— Translator. 
 
 294
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 claimed Vladimir Sergyeitch. — " But how you 
 have changed since then ! ..." 
 
 " Yes, I have grown old," — returned Piotr 
 Alexyeitch, passing his hand, which was devoid 
 of a glove, over his face. — " But you have not 
 changed." 
 
 Veretyeff had not so much aged as fallen 
 away and sunk down. Small, delicate wrinkles 
 covered his face ; and when he sj)oke, his lips and 
 cheeks twitched slightly. From all this it was 
 perceptible that the man had been living hard. 
 
 " Where have you disappeared to all this time, 
 that you have not been visible? " — Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch asked him. 
 
 " I have been wandering about here and there. 
 And you have been in Petersburg all the while? " 
 
 " Yes, most of the time." 
 
 " Are you married? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 And A^adimir Sergyeitch assumed a rather 
 severe mien, as though with the object of saying 
 to Veretyeff: " My good fellow, don't take it into 
 thy head to ask me to present thee to my wife." 
 
 Veretyeff understood him, apparently. An 
 indifferent sneer barely flitted across his lips. 
 
 "And how is your sister? " — inquired Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch. — " Where is she? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you for certain. She must be in 
 Moscow. I have not received any letters from 
 her this long time! " 
 
 295
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " Is her husband alive? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "AndMr. IpatofF?" 
 
 " I don't know; probably he is alive also; but 
 he may be dead." 
 
 " And that gentleman— what the deuce was 
 his name?— BodryakofF,— what of him? " 
 
 " The one you invited to be your second — you 
 remember, when you were so scared? Why, the 
 devil knows I " 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch maintained silence for a 
 while, with dignity written on his face. 
 
 *' I always recall with pleasure those even- 
 ings,"— he went on,—" when I had the opportu- 
 nity " (he had nearly said, " the honour ") " of 
 making the acquaintance of your sister and your- 
 self. She was a very amiable person. And do 
 you sing as agreeably as ever? " 
 
 " No; I have lost my voice. . . . But that was 
 a good time! " 
 
 " I visited Ipatovka once aftenvard,"— added 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch, elevating his eyebrows 
 mournfully. " I think that was the name of that 
 village— on the very day of a terrible event. ..." 
 
 " Yes, yes, that was frightful, frightful,"— 
 Veretyeff hastily interrupted him.—" Yes, yes. 
 And do you remember how you came near fight- 
 ing with my present brother-in-law? " 
 
 " H'ml I remember! "—replied Vladimir Ser- 
 gyeitch, slowly.—" However, I must confess to 
 
 296
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 you that so much time has elapsed since then, that 
 all that sometimes seems to me like a dream. ..." 
 
 " Like a dream," — repeated VeretyefF, and his 
 pale cheeks flushed;— " like a dream .... no, 
 it was not a dream, for me at all events. It was 
 the time of youth, of mirth and happiness, the 
 time of unlimited hopes, and invincible powers; 
 and if it was a dream, then it was a very beau- 
 tiful dream. And now, you and I have grown 
 old and stupid, we dye our moustaches, and 
 saunter on the Nevsky, and have become good 
 for nothing; like broken-winded nags, we have 
 become utterly vapid and worn out; it cannot 
 be said that we are pompous and put on airs, nor 
 that we spend our time in idleness; but I fear 
 we drown our grief in drink, — that is more like 
 a dream, and a hideous dream. Life has been 
 lived, and lived in vain, clumsily, vulgarly — that's 
 what is bitter! That 's what one would like to 
 shake oiF like a dream, that 's what one would 
 like to recover one's self from! .... And then 
 .... everywhere, there is one frightful memory, 
 one ghost. . . . But farewell! " 
 
 Veretyeff walked hastily away ; but on coming 
 opposite the door of one of the principal con- 
 fectioners on the Nevsky, he halted, entered, and 
 after drinking a glass of orange vodka at the 
 buff'et, he wended his way through the billiard- 
 room, all dark and dim with tobacco-smoke, to 
 the rear room. There he found several acquaint- 
 
 297
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 ances, his former comrades— Petya Lazurin, K6- 
 stya Kovrovsky, and Prince Serdiukoff , and two 
 other gentlemen who were called simply Vasiiik, 
 and Filat. All of them were men no longer 
 young, though unmarried ; some of them had lost 
 their hair, others were growing grey; their faces 
 were covered with wrinkles, their chins had grown 
 double ; in a word, these gentlemen had all long 
 since passed their prime, as the saying is. Yet 
 all of them continued to regard Veretyeif as a 
 remarkable man, destined to astonish the uni- 
 verse; and he was wiser than they only because 
 he was very well aware of his utter and radical 
 uselessness. And even outside of his circle, there 
 were people who thought concerning him, that 
 if he had not ruined himself, the deuce only 
 knows what he would have made of himself. . . . 
 These people were mistaken. Nothing ever 
 comes of Veretyeif s. 
 
 Piotr Alexyeitch's friends welcomed him with 
 the customary greetings. At first he dumb- 
 founded them with his gloomy aspect and his 
 splenetic speeches; but he speedily calmed down, 
 cheered up, and affairs went on in their wonted 
 rut. 
 
 But Vladimir Sergyeitch, as soon as Veretyeif 
 left him, contracted his brows in a frown and 
 straightened himself up. Piotr Alexyeitch's un- 
 expected sally had astounded, even offended 
 him extremely. 
 
 298
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 " ' We have grown stupid, we drink liquor, we 
 dye our moustaches ' . . . . parlez pour vous_, 
 mon cher" — he said at last, almost aloud, and 
 emitting a couple of snorts caused by an access 
 of involuntary indignation, he was preparing to 
 continue his stroll. 
 
 " Who was that talking with you? " — rang out 
 a loud and self-confident voice behind him. 
 
 Vladimir Sergyeitch turned round and beheld 
 one of his best friends, a certain Mr. Pomponsky. 
 This Mr. Pomponsky, a man of lofty stature, 
 and stout, occupied a decidedly important post, 
 and never once, from his very earliest youth, had 
 he doubted himself. 
 
 " Why, a sort of eccentric," — said Vladimir 
 Sergyeitch, linking his arm in Mr. Pomponsky's. 
 
 " Good gracious, Vladimir Sergyeitch, is it 
 permissible for a respectable man to chat on the 
 street with an individual who wears a foraging- 
 cap on his head? 'T is indecent! I 'm amazed! 
 Where could you have made acquaintance with 
 such a person? " 
 
 " In the country." 
 
 " In the country. . . . One does not bow to 
 one's country neighbours in town . . . . ce nest 
 pas comme il faut. A gentleman should always 
 bear himself like a gentleman if he wishes 
 xnax • • • • 
 
 " Here is my wife," — Vladimir' Sergyeitch 
 hastily interrupted him.—" Let us go to her." 
 
 299.
 
 THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 
 
 And the two gentlemen directed their steps 
 to a low-hung, elegant carriage, from whose win- 
 dow there peered forth the pale, weary, and irri- 
 tatingly-arrogant little face of a woman who was 
 still young, but already faded. 
 
 Behind her another lady, also apparently in a 
 bad humour,— her mother,— was visible. Vladi- 
 mir Sergyeitch opened the door of the carriage, 
 and offered his arm to his wife. Pomponsky 
 gave his to the mother-in-law, and the two 
 couples made their way along the Nevsky Pros- 
 pekt, accompanied by a short, black -haired foot- 
 man in yellowish-grey gaiters, and with a big 
 cockade on his hat. 
 
 300
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 (1864)
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 A FRAGMENT FROM THE DIARY OF 
 A DEAD ARTIST 
 
 II 
 
 III 
 
 IT is enough," I said to myself, while my feet, 
 treading unwillingly the steep slope of the 
 mountain, bore me downward toward the quiet 
 river; " it is enough," I repeated, as I inhaled the 
 resinous scent of the pine grove, to which the chill 
 of approaching evening had imparted a peculiar 
 potency and pungency; "it is enough," I said 
 once more, as I seated myself on a mossy hillock 
 directly on the brink of the river and gazed at its 
 dark, unhurried waves, above which a thick 
 growth of reeds lifted their pale-green stalks. . . . 
 " It is enough!— Have done with dreaming, with 
 striving: 't is high time to pull thyself together; 
 
 303
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 't is high time to clutch thy head with both hands 
 and bid thy heart be still. Give over pampering 
 thyself with the sweet indulgence of indefinite but 
 captivating sensations; give over running after 
 every new form of beauty ; give over seizing every 
 tremor of its delicate and powerful pinions. — 
 Everything is known, everything has been felt 
 over and over again many times already. ... I 
 am weary. — What care I that at this very mo- 
 ment the dawn is suffusing the sky ever more and 
 more broadly, like some inflamed, all-conquering 
 passion! What care I that two paces from me, 
 amid the tranquillity and the tenderness and the 
 gleam of evening, in the dewy depths of a mo- 
 tionless bush, a nightingale has suddenly burst 
 forth in such magical notes as though there had 
 never been any nightingales in the world before 
 it, and as though it were the first to chant the first 
 song of the first love! All that has been, has 
 been, I repeat; it has been recapitulated a thou- 
 sand times — and when one remembers that all 
 this will so continue for a whole eternity — as 
 though to order, by law — one even grows vexed! 
 Yes .... vexed! " 
 
 IV 
 
 Eh, how I have suffered! Formerly such 
 thoughts never entered my head— formerly, in 
 those happ5^ days when I myself was wont to 
 
 304
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 flame like the glow of dawn, and to sing like the 
 nightingale.— I must confess that everything has 
 grown obscure round about me, all life has with- 
 ered. The light which gives to its colours both 
 significance and power— that light which ema- 
 nates from the heart of man— has become extinct 
 within me. . . . No, it has not yet become extinct — 
 but it is barely smouldering, without radiance 
 and without warmth. I remember how one day, 
 late at night, in Moscow, I stepped up to the 
 grated window of an ancient church and leaned 
 against the uneven glass. It was dark under the 
 low arches; a forgotten shrine-lamp flickered 
 with a red flame in front of an ancient holy 
 picture, and only the lips of the holy face were 
 visible, stern and suff'ering: mournful gloom 
 closed in around and seemed to be preparing to 
 crush with its dull weight the faint ray of un- 
 necessary light. . . . And in my heart reign now 
 the same sort of light and the same sort of gloom. 
 
 And this I write to thee— to thee, my only and 
 unforgettable friend; to thee, my dear compan- 
 ion,^ whom I have left forever, but whom I shall 
 never cease to love until my life ends. . . . Alas! 
 thou knowest what it was that separated us. But 
 I will not refer to that now. I have left thee . . . 
 
 ^The Russian shows that a woman is addressed. —Teanslator. 
 
 305
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 but even here, in this remote nook, at this dis- 
 tance, in this exile, I am all permeated with thee, 
 I am in thy power as of yore, as of yore I feel 
 the sweet pressure of thy hands upon my bowed 
 head!— Rising up for the last time, from the mute 
 grave in which I now am lying, I run a mild, 
 much-moved glance over all my past, over all 
 our past. . . . There is no hope and no return, 
 but neither is there any bitterness in me, or re- 
 gret; and clearer than the heavenly azure, purer 
 than the first snows on the mountain heights, are 
 my beautiful memories. . . . They do not press 
 upon me in throngs: they pass by in procession, 
 like those muffled figures of the Athenian god- 
 born ones, which — dost thou remember? — we ad- 
 mired so greatly on the ancient bas-reliefs of the 
 Vatican. . . . 
 
 VI 
 
 I HAVE just alluded to the light which ema- 
 nates from the human heart and illumines every- 
 thing which surrounds it. ... I want to talk with 
 thee about that time when that gracious light 
 burned in my heart.— Listen .... but I imagine 
 that thou art sitting in front of me, and gazing at 
 me with thine affectionate but almost severely- 
 attentive eyes. O eyes never to be forgotten! 
 On whom, on what are they now fixed? Who is 
 receiving into his soul thy glance— that glance 
 
 306
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 which seems to flow from unfathomable depths, 
 Hke those mysterious springs — Hke you both 
 bright and dark — which well up at the very bot- 
 tom of narrow valleys, beneath overhanging 
 cliffs ? Listen. 
 
 VII 
 
 It was at the end of March, just before the Feast 
 of the Annunciation, shortly after I saw thee 
 for the first time— and before I as yet suspected 
 what thou wert destined to become to me, al- 
 though I already bore thee, silently and secretly 
 in my heart. — I was obliged to cross one of the 
 largest rivers in Russia. The ice had not yet be- 
 gun to move in it, but it seemed to have swollen 
 up and turned dark ; three days previously a thaw 
 had set in. The snow was melting round about 
 diligently but quietly ; everywhere water was ooz- 
 ing out ; in the light air a soundless breeze was rov- 
 ing. The same even, milky hue enveloped earth 
 and sky : it was not a mist, but it was not light ; not 
 a single object stood out from the general opac- 
 ity; everything seemed both near and indistinct. 
 Leaving my kibitka far behind, I walked briskly 
 over the river-ice, and with the exception of the 
 beat of my own footsteps, I could hear nothing. 
 I walked on, enveloped on all sides by the first 
 stupor and breath of early spring .... and little 
 by little augmenting with every step, with every 
 
 307
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 movement in advance, there gradually rose up and 
 grew within me a certain joyous incomprehensi- 
 ble agitation. ... It drew me on, it hastened my 
 pace — and so powerful were its transports, that 
 I came to a standstill at last and looked about me 
 in surprise and questioningly, as though desirous 
 of detecting the outward cause of my ecstatic con- 
 dition. . . . All was still, white, sunny ; but I raised 
 my eyes: high above flocks of migratory birds 
 were flying past. ..." Spring! Hail, Spring! " — 
 I shouted in a loud voice. " Hail, life and love 
 and happiness! " — And at that same instant, with 
 sweetly-shattering force, similar to the flower of 
 a cactus, there suddenly flared up within me thy 
 image — flared up and stood there, enchantingly 
 clear and beautiful— and I understood that I 
 loved thee, thee alone, that I was all filled with 
 thee. ... 
 
 VIII 
 
 I THINK of thee . . . and many other memories, 
 other pictures rise up before me,— and thou art 
 everywhere, on all the paths of my life I en- 
 counter thee.— Now there presents itself to me 
 an old Russian garden on the slope of a hill, il- 
 luminated by the last rays of the summer sun. 
 From behind silvery poplars peeps forth the 
 wooden roof of the manor-house, with a slender 
 wreath of crimson smoke hanging above the white 
 
 308
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 chimney, and in the fence a wicket-gate stands 
 open a crack, as though some one had pulled it 
 to with undecided hand. And I stand and wait, 
 and gaze at that gate and at the sand on the gar- 
 den paths ; I wonder and I am moved : everything 
 I see seems to me remarkable and new, every- 
 thing is enveloped with an atmosphere of a sort 
 of bright, caressing mystery, and abeady I think 
 I hear the swift rustle of footsteps ; and I stand, 
 all alert and light, like a bird which has just 
 folded its wings and is poised ready to soar aloft 
 again — and my heart flames and quivers in joy- 
 ous dread before the imminent happiness which 
 is flitting on in front. ... 
 
 IX 
 
 Then I behold an ancient cathedral in a distant, 
 beautiful land. The kneeling people are crowded 
 close in rows; a prayerful chill, something sol- 
 emn and sad breathes forth from the loftj^ bare 
 vault, from the huge pillars which branch up- 
 ward.— Thou art standing by my side, speechless 
 and unsympathetic, exactly as though thou wert 
 a stranger to me; every fold of thy dark gown 
 hangs motionless, as though sculptured; motion- 
 less lie the mottled reflections of the coloured 
 windows at thy feet on the well-worn flagstones. 
 — And now, vigorously agitating the air dim 
 with incense, inwardly agitating us, in a heavy 
 
 309
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 surge the tones of the organ roll out; and thou 
 hast turned pale and drawn thyself up ; thy gaze 
 has touched me, has slipped on higher and is 
 raised heavenward; — but it seems to me that only 
 a deathless soul can look like that and with such 
 eyes. ... 
 
 X 
 
 Now another picture presents itself to me.— 'T is 
 not an ancient temple which crushes us with its 
 stern magnificence : the low walls of a cosey httle 
 room separate us from the whole world. — What 
 am I saying? We are alone— alone in all the 
 world; except us two there is no living thing; 
 beyond those friendly walls lie darkness and 
 death and emptiness. That is not the wind howl- 
 ing, that is not the rain streaming in floods; it 
 is Chaos wailing and groaning ; it is its blind eyes 
 weeping. But with us all is quiet and bright, and 
 warm and gracious; something diverting, some- 
 thing childishly innocent is fluttering about like 
 a butterfly, is it not ? We nestle up to each other, 
 we lean our heads together and both read a good 
 book; I feel the slender vein in thy delicate tem- 
 ple beating; I hear how thou art living, thou 
 hearest how I am living, thy smile is born upon 
 my face before it comes on thine; thou silently 
 repliest to my silent question; thy thoughts, my 
 thoughts, are like the two wings of one and the 
 
 310
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 same bird drowned in the azure. . . The last par- 
 titions have fallen— and our love has become so 
 calm, so profound, every breach has vanished so 
 completely, leaving no trace behind it, that we do 
 not even wish to exchange a word, a glance. . . . 
 We only wish to breathe, to breathe together, to 
 live together, to be together, . . . and not even 
 to be conscious of the fact that we are to- 
 gether. . . . 
 
 XI 
 
 Or, in conclusion, there presents itself to me a 
 clear September morning when thou and I were 
 walking together through the deserted garden, as 
 yet not wholly out of bloom, of an abandoned 
 palace, on the bank of a great non-Russian river, 
 beneath the soft radiance of a cloudless sky. Oh, 
 how shall I describe those sensations? — that end- 
 lessly-flowing river, that absence of people, and 
 tranquillity, and joy, and a certain intoxicating 
 sadness, and the vibration of happiness, the un- 
 familiar, monotonous town, the autumnal croak- 
 ing of the daws in the tall, bright trees— and 
 those affectionate speeches and smiles and 
 glances long and soft, which pierce to the very 
 bottom, and beauty,— the beauty in ourselves, 
 round about, everywhere;— it is beyond words. 
 Oh, bench on which we sat in silence, with heads 
 drooping low with happiness— I shall never for- 
 
 311
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 get thee to my dying hour!— How charming 
 were those rare passers-by with their gentle 
 greeting and kind faces, and the large, quiet 
 boats which floated past (on one of them— 
 dost thou remember? — stood a horse gazing pen- 
 sively at the water gliding by under its feet) , the 
 childish babble of the little waves inshore and the 
 very barking of distant dogs over the expanse of 
 the river, the very shouts of the corpulent under- 
 officer at the red-cheeked recruits drilling there 
 on one side, with their projecting elbows and their 
 legs thrust forward like the legs of cranes! . . . 
 We both felt that there never had been and never 
 would be anything better in the world for us than 
 those moments — than all the rest. . . . But what 
 comparisons are these! Enough .... enough. . . . 
 Alas ! yes : it is enough. 
 
 XII 
 
 For the last time I have surrendered myself to 
 these memories, and I am parting from them irre- 
 vocably — as a miser, after gloating for the last 
 time upon his hoard, his gold, his bright trea- 
 sure, buries it in the damp earth; as the wick of 
 an exhausted lamp, after flashing up in one last 
 brilhant flame, becomes covered with grey ashes. 
 The little wild animal has peered forth for the 
 last time from his lair at the velvety grass, at the 
 fair little sun, at the blue, gracious waters,— and 
 
 312
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 has retreated to the deepest level, and curled him- 
 self up in a ball, and fallen asleep. Will he have 
 visions, if only in his sleep, of the fair little sun, 
 and the grass, and the blue, gracious waters? 
 
 XIII 
 
 Sternly and ruthlessly does Fate lead each one 
 of us— and only in the early days do we, occu- 
 pied with all sorts of accidents, nonsense, our- 
 selves, fail to feel her harsh hand. — So long as 
 we are able to deceive ourselves and are not 
 ashamed to lie, it is possible to live and to hope 
 without shame. The truth— not the full truth 
 (there can be no question of that), but even that 
 tiny fraction which is accessible to us — immedi- 
 ately closes our mouths, binds our hands, and re- 
 duces " to negation." — The only thing that is 
 then left for a man, in order to keep erect on his 
 feet and not crumble to dust, not to become be- 
 mired in the ooze of self-forgetfulness, ... is self- 
 scorn ; is to turn calmly away from everything and 
 say: "It is enough!" — and folding his useless 
 arms on his empty breast to preserve the last, the 
 sole merit which is accessible to him, the merit of 
 recognising his own insignificance; the merit to 
 which Pascal alludes, when, calling man a think- 
 
 313
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 ing reed, he says that if the entire universe were 
 to crush him, he, that reed, would still be higher 
 than the universe because he would know that it 
 is crushing him — while it would not know that. 
 A feeble merit! Sad consolation! Try as thou 
 mayest to permeate thyself with it, to believe 
 in it, — oh, thou my poor brother, whosoever thou 
 mayest be! — thou canst not refute those ominous 
 words of the poet : 
 
 Life 's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
 And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing, . .^ 
 
 I have cited the verses from " Macbeth," and those 
 witches, phantoms, visions have recurred to my 
 mind. . . . Alas! it is not visions, not fantastic, 
 subterranean powers that are terrible; the crea- 
 tions of Hoffmann are not dreadful, under what- 
 soever form they may present themselves. . . . 
 The terrible thing is that there is nothing terri- 
 ble, that the very substance of life itself is petty, 
 uninteresting — and insipid to beggary. Having 
 once become permeated with this consciousness, 
 having once tasted of this wormwood, no honey 
 will ever seem sweet — and even that loftiest, 
 sweetest happiness, the happiness of love, of 
 complete friendship, of irrevocable devotion — 
 
 1 " Macbeth," Act V, scene v. 
 
 ,314
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 even it loses all its charm; all its worth is anni- 
 hilated by its own pettiness, its brevity. Well, 
 yes: a man has loved, he has burned, he has fal- 
 tered words about eternal bliss, about immortal 
 enjoyments — and behold: it is long, long since 
 the last trace vanished of that worm which has 
 eaten out the last remnants of his withered 
 tongue. Thus late in autumn, on a frosty day, 
 when everything is lifeless and dumb in the last 
 blades of grass, on the verge of the denuded for- 
 est, the sun has but to emerge for an instant from 
 the fog, to gaze intently at the chilled earth, and 
 immediately, from all sides, gnats rise up; they 
 frolic in the warmth of his rays, they bustle and 
 jostle upward, downward, they circle round one 
 another. . . . The sun hides himself, and the gnats 
 fall to the earth in a soft rain— and there is an 
 end to their momentary life. 
 
 XIV 
 
 " But are there no great conceptions, no great 
 words of consolation ? Nationality, right, liberty, 
 humanity, art? " Yes; those words do exist, and 
 many people live by them and for them. But 
 nevertheless, I have an idea that if Shakspeare 
 were to be born again he would find no occasion 
 to disclaim his " Hamlet," his " Lear." His pene- 
 trating glance would not descry anything new in 
 
 315
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 human existence: the same motley and, in reality, 
 incoherent picture would still unfold itself before 
 him in its disquieting monotony. The same fri- 
 volity, the same cruelty, the same pressing de- 
 mand for blood, gold, filth, the same stale plea- 
 sures, the same senseless sufferings in the name 
 of ... . well, in the name of the same nonsense 
 which was ridiculed by Aristophanes three thou- 
 sand years ago, the same coarse lures to which the 
 many-headed beast still yields as readily as ever 
 — in a word, the same anxious skipping of the 
 squirrel in the same old wheel, which has not even 
 been renewed. . . . Shakspeare would again make 
 Lear repeat his harsh: "There are no guilty 
 ones " — which, in other words, signifies: " There 
 are no just"— and he also would say: "It is 
 enough!" and he also would turn away. — One 
 thing only: perhaps, in contrast to the gloomy, 
 tragic tyrant Richard, the ironical genius of the 
 great poet would like to draw another, more up- 
 to-date tyrant, who is almost ready to believe 
 in his own virtue and rests calmly at night or 
 complains of the over-dainty dinner at the same 
 time that his half -stifled victims are endeavour- 
 ing to comfort themselves by at least imagining 
 him as Richard III. surrounded by the ghosts 
 of the people he has murdered. . . . 
 
 But to what purpose? 
 
 Why demonstrate — and that by picking and 
 weighing one's words, by rounding and polishing 
 
 316
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 one's speech— why demonstrate to gnats that 
 they really are gnats? 
 
 XV 
 
 But art? . . . Beauty? . . . Yes, those are mighty 
 words; they are, probably, mightier than those 
 which I have mentioned above. The Venus of 
 Melos, for example, is more indubitable than the 
 Roman law, or than the principles of 1789. Men 
 may retort— and how many times have I heard 
 these retorts! — that beauty itself is also a matter 
 of convention, that to the Chinese it presents it- 
 self in a totally different manner from what it 
 does to the European. . . . But it is not the con- 
 ventionality of art which disconcerts me; its per- 
 ishableness, and again its perishableness,— its 
 decay and dust — that is what deprives me of 
 courage and of faith. Art, at any given mo- 
 ment, is, I grant, more powerful than Nature it- 
 self, because in it there is neither symphony of 
 Beethoven nor picture of Ruysdael nor poem of 
 Goethe — and only dull-witted pedants or con- 
 scienceless babblers can still talk of art as a copy 
 of Nature. But in the long run Nature is ir- 
 resistible; she cannot be hurried, and sooner or 
 later she will assert her rights. Unconsciously 
 and infallibly obedient to law, she does not know 
 art, as she does not know liberty, as she does not 
 know good ; moving onward from eternity, trans- 
 
 317
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 mitted from eternity, she tolerates nothing im- 
 mortal, nothing unchangeable. . . . Man is her 
 child; but the human, the artificial is inimical to 
 her, precisely because she strives to be unchange- 
 able and immortal. Man is the child of Nature; 
 but she is the universal mother, and she has no 
 preferences : everything which exists in her bosom 
 has arisen only for the benefit of another and 
 must, in due time, make way for that other — she 
 creates by destroying, and it is a matter of perfect 
 indifference to her what she creates, what she de- 
 stroys, if only life be not extirpated, if only death 
 do not lose its rights. . . . And therefore she as 
 calmly covers with mould the divine visage of 
 Phidias's Jupiter as she does a plain pebble, and 
 delivers over to be devoured by the contemned 
 moth the most precious lines of Sophocles. Men, 
 it is true, zealously aid her in her work of exter- 
 mination; but is not the same elementary force, — 
 is not the force of Nature shown in the finger of 
 the barbarian who senselessly shattered the radiant 
 brow of Apollo, in the beast-like howls with which 
 he hurled the picture of Apelles into the fire? 
 How are we poor men, poor artists, to come to 
 an agreement with this deaf and dumb force, 
 blind from its birth, which does not even triumph 
 in its victories, but marches, ever marches on 
 ahead, devouring all things? How are we to 
 stand up against those heavy, coarse, intermina- 
 bly and incessantly onrolling waves, how believe, 
 
 318
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 in short, in the significance and worth of those 
 perishable images which we, in the darkness, on 
 the verge of the abyss, mould from the dust and 
 for a mere instant? 
 
 XVI 
 
 All this is so ... . but only the transitory is beau- 
 tiful, Shakspeare has said ; and Nature herself, in 
 the unceasing play of her rising and vanishing 
 forms, does not shun beauty. Is it not she who 
 sedulously adorns the most momentary of her 
 offspring— the petals of the flowers, the wings 
 of the butterfly — with such charming colours? 
 Is it not she who imparts to them such exquisite 
 outlines? It is not necessary for beauty to Uve 
 forever in order to be inmiortal— one moment is 
 sufficient for it. That is so; that is just, I grant 
 you — but only in cases where there is no per- 
 sonality, where man is not, liberty is not: the 
 faded wing of the butterfly comes back again, and 
 a thousand years later, with the selfsame wing 
 of the selfsame butterfly, necessity sternly and 
 regularly and impartially fulfils its round .... 
 but man does not repeat himself like the butter- 
 fly, and the work of his hands, his art, his free 
 creation once destroyed, is annihilated forever. 
 . . . To him alone is it given to " create " . . . . but 
 it is strange and terrible to articulate: " We are 
 creators .... for an hour," — as there once was, 
 
 319
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 they say, a caliph for an hour.— Therein hes our 
 supremacy — and our curse: each one of these 
 " creators " in himself — precisely he, not any one 
 else, precisely that ego — seems to have been cre- 
 ated with deliberate intent, on a plan previously 
 designed; each one more or less dimly under- 
 stands his significance, feels that he is akin to 
 something higher, something eternal — and he 
 lives, he is bound to live in the moment and for 
 the moment.^ Sit in the mud, my dear fellow, 
 and strive toward heaven! — The greatest among 
 us are precisely those who are the most pro- 
 foundly conscious of all of that fundamental 
 contradiction; but in that case the question 
 arises, — are the words " greatest, great " appro- 
 priate? 
 
 XVII 
 
 But what shall be said of those to whom, despite 
 a thorough desire to do so, one cannot apply those 
 appellations even in the sense which is attributed 
 to them by the feeble human tongue? — W lat shall 
 be said of the ordinary, commonplace, second- 
 rate, third-rate toilers — whoever they may be — 
 statesmen, learned men, artists— especially ar- 
 
 1 How can one fail to recall at this point the words of Mephistophe- 
 lesin "Faust": 
 
 "Er (Gott) findet sich in einen ew'gen Glanze, 
 Uns hat er in die Finsterniss gebracht— 
 Und euch taugt einzig Tag und Nacht." 
 
 320
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 tists? How force them to shake oif their dumb 
 indolence, their dejected perplexity, how draw 
 them once more to the field of battle, if once the 
 thought as to the vanity of everything human, of 
 every activity which sets for itself a higher aim 
 than the winning of daily bread, has once crept 
 into their heads ? By what wreaths are they lured 
 on— they, for whom laurels and thorns have be- 
 come equally insignificant? Why should they 
 again subject themselves to the laughter of " the 
 cold throng " or to " the condemnation of the 
 dunce," — of the old dunce who cannot forgive 
 them for having turned away from the former 
 idols ; of the young dunce who demands that they 
 shall immediately go down on their knees in his 
 company, that they should lie prone before new, 
 just-discovered idols? Why shall they betake 
 themselves again to that rag-fair of phantoms, 
 to that market-place where both the seller and the 
 buyer cheat each other equally, where everything 
 is so noisy, so loud— and yet so poor and worth- 
 less? Why "with exhaustion in their bones" 
 shall they interweave themselves again with that 
 world where the nations, like peasant urchins on 
 a festival day, flounder about in the mud for the 
 sake of a handful of empty nuts, or admire with 
 gaping mouths the wretched woodcuts, decorated 
 with tinsel gold,— with that world where they had 
 no right to life while they lived in it, and, deafen- 
 ing themselves with their own shouts, each one 
 
 321
 
 IT IS ENOUGH 
 
 hastens with convulsive speed to a goal which he 
 neither knows nor understands ? No .... no ... . 
 It is enough .... enough .... enough ! 
 
 XVIII 
 
 The rest is silence.^ . . . 
 
 ^ This is in English in the original. —Translator. 
 
 322
 
 THE DOG 
 
 (1866)
 
 THE DOG 
 
 BUT if we can admit the possibility of the 
 supernatural, the possibility of its interven- 
 tion in real life, — then allow me to inquire, what 
 role is sound judgment bound to play after 
 this?" — shouted Anton Stepanitch, crossing his 
 arms on his stomach. 
 
 Anton Stepanitch had held the rank of State 
 Councillor,^ had served in some wonderful de- 
 partment, and, as his speech was interlarded with 
 pauses and was slow and uttered in a bass voice, 
 he enjoyed universal respect. Not long before 
 the date of our story, " the good-for-nothing lit- 
 tle Order of St. Stanislas had been stuck on him," 
 as those who envied him expressed it. 
 
 " That is perfectly just,"— remarked Skvore- 
 vitch. 
 
 " No one will dispute that,"— added Kinare- 
 vitch. 
 
 " I assent also,"— chimed in, in falsetto, from 
 a corner the master of the house, Mr. Finoplen- 
 tofF. 
 
 ^ The fifth (from the top) of the fourteen grades in the Table of 
 Ranks, instituted by Peter the Great, which were to be won by ser- 
 vice to the State.— Translator. 
 
 325
 
 THE DOG 
 
 " But I, I must confess, cannot assent, be- 
 cause something supernatural has happened to 
 me," — said a man of medium stature and mid- 
 dle age, with a protruding abdomen and a 
 bald spot, who had been sitting silent before 
 the stove up to that moment. The glances 
 of all present in the room were turned upon 
 him with curiosity and surprise — and silence 
 reigned. 
 
 This man was a landed proprietor of Kaluga, 
 not wealthy, who had recently come to Peters- 
 burg. He had once served in the hussars, had 
 gambled away his property, resigned from the 
 service and settled down in the country. The re- 
 cent agricultural changes had cut off his reve- 
 nues, and he had betaken himself to the capital 
 in search of a snug httle position. He possessed 
 no abilities, and had no influential connections; 
 but he placed great reliance on the friendship of 
 an old comrade in the service, who had suddenly, 
 without rhyme or reason, become a person of im- 
 portance, and whom he had once aided to ad- 
 minister a sound thrashing to a card-sharper. 
 Over and above that he counted upon his own 
 luck— and it had not betrayed him; several days 
 later he obtained the post of inspector of govern- 
 ment storehouses, a profitable, even honourable 
 position, which did not require extraordinary tal- 
 ents: the storehouses themselves existed only in 
 contemplation, and no one even knew with cer- 
 
 326
 
 THE DOG 
 
 tainty what they were to contain,— but they had 
 been devised as a measure of governmental econ- 
 omy. 
 
 Anton Stepanitch was the first to break the 
 general silence. 
 
 " What, my dear sir? "—he began. " Do you 
 seriously assert that something supernatural— I 
 mean to say, incompatible with the laws of nature 
 — has happened to you? " 
 
 " I do," — returned " my dear sir," whose real 
 name was Porfiry Kapitonitch. 
 
 " Incompatible with the laws of nature? "— 
 energetically repeated Anton Stepanitch, who ev- 
 idently liked that phrase. 
 
 " Precisely .... yes; precisely the sort of thing 
 you allude to." 
 
 " This is astonishing! What think you, gen- 
 tlemen? " — Anton Stepanitch endeavoured to 
 impart to his features an ironical expression, but 
 without result — or, to speak more accurately, the 
 only result was to produce the effect that Mr. 
 State Councillor smelt a bad odour. — " Will not 
 you be so kind, my dear sir," — he went on, ad- 
 dressing the landed proprietor from Kaluga, — 
 " as to communicate to us the particulars of such a 
 curious event? " 
 
 " Why not? Certainly! " — replied the landed 
 proprietor, and moving forward to the middle 
 of the room in an easy manner, he spoke as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 327
 
 THE DOG 
 
 I HAVE, gentlemen, as you are probably aware, 
 — or as you may not be aware, — a small estate in 
 Kozyol County. I formerly derived some profit 
 from it— but now, of course, nothing but unplea- 
 santness is to be anticipated. However, let us 
 put politics aside ! Well, sir, on that same estate 
 I have a "wee little" manor: a vegetable gar- 
 den, as is proper, a tiny pond with little carp, 
 and some sort of buildings — well, and a small 
 wing for my own sinful body. ... I am a bach- 
 elor. So, sir, one day— about six years ago— I 
 had returned home rather late ; I had been playing 
 cards at a neighbour's house — but I beg you to 
 observe, I was not tipsy, as the expression goes. 
 I undressed, got into bed, and blew out the light. 
 And just imagine, gentlemen; no sooner had I 
 blown out the light, than something began to 
 rummage under my bed! Is it a rat? I thought. 
 No, it was not a rat: it clawed and fidgeted and 
 
 scratched itself At last it began to flap its 
 
 ears! 
 
 It was a dog— that was clear. But where had 
 the dog come from? I keep none myself. " Can 
 some stray animal have run in? " I thought. I 
 called to my servant; his name is Fflka. The 
 man entered with a candle. 
 
 " What 's this,"— says I,—" my good Filka? 
 How lax thou art! A dog has intruded himself 
 under my bed." 
 
 328
 
 THE DOG 
 
 "What dog?"— says he. 
 
 "How should I know?"— says I;— "that's 
 thy affair — not to allow thy master to be dis- 
 turbed." 
 
 My Filka bent down, and began to pass the 
 candle about under the bed. 
 
 "Why," — says he, — "there 's no dog here." 
 
 I bent down also ; in fact there was no dog. . . . 
 Here was a marvel 1 I turned my eyes on Filka : 
 he was smiling. 
 
 " Fool,"— said I to him, — " what art thou grin- 
 ning about? When thou didst open the door the 
 dog probably took and sneaked out into the ante- 
 room. But thou, gaper, didst notice nothing, 
 because thou art eternally asleep. Can it be that 
 thou thinkest I am drunk? " 
 
 He attempted to reply, but I drove him out, 
 curled myself up in a ring, and heard nothing 
 more that night. 
 
 But on the following night — just imagine! — 
 the same thing was repeated. No sooner had I 
 blown out the Hght than it began to claw and flap 
 its ears. Again I summoned Fflka, again he 
 looked under the bed — again nothing! I sent 
 him away, blew out the light— phew, damn it! 
 there was the dog still. And a dog it certainly 
 was : I could hear it breathing and rummaging in 
 its hair with its teeth in search of fleas ... so 
 plainly I 
 
 329
 
 THE DOG 
 
 '' Filkal "— says I,—" come hither without a 
 light! "... He entered. ..." Well, now,"— says 
 I, "dost thou hear? . . ." 
 
 " I do,"— said he. I could not see him, but I 
 felt that the fellow was quailing. 
 
 " What dost thou make of it? "—said I. 
 
 " What dost thou command me to make of it, 
 Porfiry Kapitonitch? ... 'T is an instigation of 
 the Evil One!" 
 
 " Thou art a lewd fellow ; hold thy tongue with 
 thy instigation of the Evil One." . . . But the 
 voices of both of us were like those of birds, and 
 we were shaking as though in a fever— in the 
 darkness. I lighted a candle: there was no dog, 
 and no noise whatever — only Filka and I as 
 white as clay. And I must inform you, gentle- 
 men — you can believe me or not— but from that 
 night forth for the space of six weeks the same 
 thing went on. At last I even got accustomed to 
 it and took to extinguishing my light because I 
 cannot sleep with a light. " Let him fidget! " I 
 thought. " It does n't harm me." 
 
 " But— I see — that you do not belong to the 
 cowardly squad," — interrupted Anton Stepa- 
 nitch, with a half -scornful, half -condescending 
 laugh. " The hussar is immediately perceptible ! " 
 
 " I should not be frightened at you, in any 
 case," — said Porfiry Kapitonitch, and for a mo- 
 ment he really did look hke a hussar.—" But lis- 
 ten further." 
 
 830
 
 THE DOG 
 
 A neighbour came to me, the same one with 
 whom I was in the habit of playing cards. He 
 dined with me on what God had sent, and lost 
 fifty rubles to me for his visit ; night was drawing 
 on — it was time for him to go. But I had cal- 
 culations of my own: — " Stop and spend the 
 night with me, Vasily Vasilitch; to-morrow thou 
 wilt win it back, God willing." 
 
 My Vasily VasiHtch pondered and pondered — 
 and stayed. I ordered a bed to be placed for 
 him in my own chamber. . . . Well, sir, we went 
 to bed, smoked, chattered, — chiefly about the fem- 
 inine sex, as is fitting in bachelor society, — and 
 laughed, as a matter of course. I look; Vasily 
 Vasilitch has put out his candle and has turned 
 his back on me; that signifies: ''Sclilafen Sie 
 wohl." I waited a little and extinguished my 
 candle also. And imagine: before I had time to 
 think to myself, " What sort of performance will 
 there be now? " my dear little animal began to 
 make a row. And that was not all; he crawled 
 out from under the bed, walked across the room, 
 clattering his claws on the floor, waggling his 
 ears, and suddenly collided with a chair which 
 stood by the side of Vasily Vasilitch's bed ! 
 
 " Porfiry Kapitonitch," — says Vasily Vasi- 
 Htch, and in such an indifl'erent voice, you know, 
 — "I did n't know that thou hadst taken to keep- 
 ing a dog. What sort of an animal is it— a 
 setter? " 
 
 831
 
 THE DOG 
 
 " I have no dog,"— said I,—" and I never have 
 had one." 
 
 " Thou hast not indeed! But what 's this? " 
 
 "What is this?"— said I.—" See here now; 
 hght the candle and thou wilt find out for thy- 
 self." 
 
 "It is n't a dog?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 Vasily Vasilitch turned over in bed. — " But 
 thou art jesting, damn it? " 
 
 " No, I 'm not jesting." — I hear him go 
 scratch, scratch with a match, and that thing does 
 not stop, but scratches its side. The flame flashed 
 up ... . and basta! There was not a trace of a 
 dog! Vasily Vasilitch stared at me— and I 
 stared at him. 
 
 " What sort of a trick is this? "—said he. 
 
 " Why,"— said I, — " this is such a trick that if 
 thou wert to set Socrates himself on one side and 
 Frederick the Great on the other even they 
 could n't make head or tail of it."— And there- 
 upon I told him all in detail. Up jumped my 
 Vasily Vasilitch as though he had been singed! 
 He could n't get into his boots. 
 
 " Horses! "-he yelled-" horses! " 
 
 I began to argue with him, but in vain. He 
 simply groaned. 
 
 " I won't stay,"— he shouted, — " not a min- 
 ute!— Of course, after this, thou art a doomed 
 man!— Horses! . . . ." 
 
 332
 
 THE DOG 
 
 But I prevailed upon him. Only his bed was 
 dragged out into another room— and night-lights 
 were lighted everywhere. In the morning, at tea, 
 he recovered his dignity ; he began to give me ad- 
 vice. 
 
 " Thou shouldst try absenting thyself from the 
 house for several days, Porfiry Kapitonitch," he 
 said: " perhaps that vile thing would leave thee." 
 
 But I must tell you that he — that neighbour 
 of mine — had a capacious mind! he worked his 
 mother-in-law so famously among other things: 
 he palmed off a note of hand on her; which sig- 
 nifies that he chose the most vulnerable moment! 
 She became like silk: she gave him a power of 
 attorney over all her property — what more would 
 you have? But that was a great affair — to twist 
 his mother-in-law round his finger — was n't it, 
 hey? Judge for yourselves. But he went away 
 from me somewhat discontented ; I had punished 
 him to the extent of another hundred rubles. He 
 even swore at me: " Thou art ungrateful,"— he 
 said, '* thou hast no feeling; " but how was I to 
 blame for that? Well, this is in parenthesis — 
 but I took his suggestion under consideration. 
 That same day I drove off to town and estab- 
 lished myself in an inn, with an acquaintance, an 
 old man of the Old Ritualist sect.^ 
 
 He was a worthy old man, although a trifle 
 
 1 Those who reject the official and necessary corrections made in 
 the Scriptures and Church service books in the reign of Peter the 
 Great's father. —Translatoe. 
 
 333
 
 THE DOG 
 
 harsh, because of lonehness: his whole family 
 were dead. Only he did not favour tobacco at 
 all,^ and felt a great loathing for dogs ; I believe, 
 for example, that rather than admit a dog into 
 the room he would have rent himself in twain! 
 " For how is it possible? "—he said. " There in 
 my room, on the wall, the Sovereign Lady herself 
 deigns to dwell ; ^ and shall a filthy dog thrust his 
 accursed snout in there? " — That was ignorance, 
 of course! However, this is my opinion: if any 
 man has been vouchsafed wisdom, let him hold 
 to it! 
 
 " But you are a great philosopher, I see," — in- 
 terrupted Anton Stepanitch again, with the same 
 laugh as before. 
 
 This time Porfiry Kapitonitch even scowled. 
 
 " What sort of a philosopher I am no one 
 knows,"— he said as his moustache twitched in a 
 surly manner:—" but I would gladly take you as 
 a pupil." 
 
 We all fairly bored our eyes into Anton Ste- 
 panitch ; each one of us expected an arrogant re- 
 tort or at least a lightning glance. . . . But Mr. 
 State Councillor altered his smile from scorn to 
 indifference, then yawned, dangled his foot —and 
 that was all! 
 
 1 The Old Ritualists oppose tea, coifee, and tobacco, chiefly, it would 
 seem, because they are "newfangled," having come into use after 
 the schism. Later on they invented curious religious reasons for 
 their denunciation of these and other things. — Translator. 
 
 2 The holy picture (ikdna) of the Mother of Christ.— Translator. 
 
 334
 
 THE DOG 
 
 So then, I settled down at that old man's 
 house— [went on Porfiry Kapitonitch].— He 
 assigned me a room " for acquaintance's " sake, — 
 not of the best; he himself lodged there also, be- 
 hind a partition — and that was all I required. 
 But what tortures I did undergo ! The chamber 
 was small, it was hot, stifling, and there were 
 flies, and such sticky ones ; in the corner was a re- 
 markably large case for images, with ancient holy 
 pictures; their garments were dim and puffed 
 out; the air was fairly infected with olive-oil, 
 and some sort of a spice in addition; on the bed- 
 stead were two down beds; if you moved a pil- 
 low, out ran a cockroach from beneath it. . . I 
 drank an incredible amount of tea, out of sheer 
 tedium — it was simply horrible! I got into bed; 
 it was impossible to sleep. — And on the other side 
 of the partition my host was sighing and grunt- 
 ing and reciting his prayers. I heard him begin 
 to snore— and very lightly and courteously, in 
 old-fashioned style. I had long since extin- 
 guished my candle — only the shrine-lamp was 
 twinkling in front of the holy pictures. ... A 
 hindrance, of course! So I took and rose up 
 softly, in my bare feet : I reached up to the lamp 
 and blew it out. . . . Nothing happened. — 
 "Aha!" I thought: "this means that he won't 
 make a fuss in the house of strangers." . . . 
 But no sooner had I lain down on the bed than 
 the row began again! The thing clawed, and 
 
 335
 
 THE DOG 
 
 scratched himself and flapped his ears . . . o 
 well, just as I wanted him to. Good! I lay there 
 and waited to see what would happen. I heard 
 the old man wake up. 
 
 " Master," — said he, — " hey there, master? " 
 
 " What 's wanted? "—said I. 
 
 " Was it thou who didst put out the shrine- 
 lamp?"— And without awaiting my reply, he 
 suddenly began to mumble: 
 
 " What 's that? What 's that? A dog? A 
 dog? Akh, thou damned Nikonian! " ^ 
 
 " Wait a bit, old man,"— said I,—" before 
 thou cursest; but it would be better for thee to 
 come hither thyself. Things deserving of won- 
 der are going on here," — said I. 
 
 The old man fussed about behind the partition 
 and entered my room with a candle, a slender 
 one, of yellow wax ; and I was amazed as I looked 
 at him! He was all bristling, with shaggy ears 
 and vicious eyes like those of a polecat; on his 
 head was a small skull-cap of white felt ; his beard 
 reached to his girdle and was white also; and he 
 had on a waistcoat with brass buttons over his 
 shirt, and fur boots on his feet, and he dissemi- 
 nated an odour of juniper. In that condition he 
 went up to the holy pictures, crossed himself 
 thrice with two fingers ^ lighted the shrine-lamp, 
 
 1 The Old Ritualists' most opprobrious epithet, designating a mem- 
 ber of the State Church, which accepted the emendations instituted 
 by Patriarch Nikon referred to in a previous note.— Translator. 
 
 2 One of the hotly disputed points of difference between the Old 
 
 336
 
 THE DOG 
 
 crossed himself again, and turning to me, merely 
 grunted : 
 
 "Explain thyself!" 
 
 Thereupon, without the least delay, I commu- 
 nicated to him all the circumstances. The old 
 man listened to all my explanations without ut- 
 tering the smallest word; he simply kept shaking 
 his head. Then he sat down on my bed, still 
 maintaining silence. He scratched his breast, the 
 back of his head, and other places, and still re- 
 mained silent. 
 
 " Well, Feodiil Ivanitch,"— said I, " what is 
 thy opinion : is this some sort of visitation of the 
 Evil One, thinkest thou? " 
 
 The old man stared at me.— "A pretty thing 
 thou hast invented ! A visitation of the Evil One, 
 forsooth! 'T would be all right at thy house, 
 thou tobacco-user,— but 't is quite another thing 
 here ! Only consider how many holy things there 
 are here! And thou must needs have a visita- 
 tion of the devil!— And if it is n't that, what 
 is it? " 
 
 The old man relapsed into silence, scratched 
 himself again, and at last he said, but in a dull 
 sort of way, because his moustache kept crawl- 
 ing into his mouth : 
 
 " Go thou to the town of ByelefF. There is 
 only one man who can help thee. And that man 
 
 Ritualists and the members of the State Church is in their manner of 
 crossing themselves. The latter use the forefinger, middle finger, and 
 thumb joined at the tips. — Translator. 
 
 337
 
 THE DOG 
 
 dwells in Byeleff ; ^ he is one of our people. If 
 he takes a fancy to help thee, that 's thy good 
 luck; if he does n't take a fancy, — so it must 
 remain." 
 
 " But how am I to find him? " — said I. 
 
 '* We can give thee directions," — said he; — 
 " only why dost thou call this a visitation of the 
 devil? 'T is a vision, or a sign; but thou wilt not 
 be able to comprehend it; 't is not within thy 
 flight. And now lie down and sleep under 
 Christ's protection, dear little father ; I will fumi- 
 gate with incense; and in the morning we will 
 take counsel together. The morning is wiser than 
 the evening, thou knowest." 
 
 Well, sir, and we did take counsel together 
 in the morning — only I came near choking to 
 death with that same incense. And the old man 
 instructed me after this wise: that when I had 
 reached Byeleff I was to go to the public square, 
 and in the second shop on the right inquire for a 
 certain Prokhoritch; and having found Prokho- 
 ritch, I was to hand him a document. And the 
 whole document consisted of a scrap of paper, 
 on which was written the following: "In the 
 name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the 
 Holy Spirit, Amen. To Sergyei Prokhoritch 
 Perviishin. Trust this man. Feoduly Ivano- 
 vitch." And below: " Send some cabbages, for 
 God's sake." 
 
 1 In the government of Tula, central Russia —Translator. 
 
 338
 
 THE DOG 
 
 I thanked the old man, and without further 
 ado ordered my tarantas to be harnessed, and set 
 oiF for ByelefF. For I argued in this way: ad- 
 mitting that my nocturnal visitor did not cause 
 me much grief, still, nevertheless, it was not quite 
 decorous for a nobleman and an officer— what do 
 you think about it? 
 
 " And did you really go to Byeleff ? "—whis- 
 pered Mr. Finoplentoff. 
 
 I did, straight to ByelefF. I went to the 
 square, and inquired in the second shop on the 
 right for Prokhoritch. " Is there such a man? " 
 — I asked. 
 
 "There is,"— I was told. 
 
 " And where does he live? " 
 
 " On the Oka, beyond the vegetable-gardens." 
 
 " In whose house? " ^ 
 His own. 
 
 I wended my way to the Oka, searched out his 
 house, that is to say, not actually a house, but a 
 downright hovel. I beheld a man in a patched 
 blue overcoat and a tattered cap,— of the petty 
 burgher class, judging by his appearance,— 
 standing with his back to me, and digging in 
 his cabbage-garden.— I went up to him. 
 
 " Are you such and such a one? "—said I. 
 
 1 Formerly, houses were not numbered, and addresses ran: "In 
 the house of * * * " (the proprietor, man or woman), often with 
 many complicated directions added to designate the special house. 
 These ancient addresses still remain, along with the numbers or 
 alone, especially on many of the houses in Moscow, and in country 
 towns. — Traxslatob. 
 
 339
 
 THE DOG 
 
 He turned round, — and to tell you the truth, 
 such piercing eyes I have never seen in all my life. 
 But his whole face was no bigger than one's fist ; 
 his beard was wedge-shaped, and his lips were 
 sunken : he was an aged man. 
 
 " I am he," — he said.—" What do you wanta? " 
 
 "Why, here,"— said I;— "this is what I 
 wanta," — and I placed the document in his hand. 
 He gazed at me very intently, and said : 
 
 " Please come into the house; I cannot read 
 without my spectacles." 
 
 Well, sir, he and I went into his kennel — actu- 
 ally, a regular kennel; poor, bare, crooked; it 
 barely held together. On the wall was a holy 
 picture of ancient work,^ as black as a coal; only 
 the whites of the eyes were fairly burning in the 
 faces of the holy people. He took some round 
 iron spectacles from a small table, placed them 
 on his nose, perused the writing, and through his 
 spectacles again scrutinised me. 
 
 " You have need of me? " 
 
 " I have,"— said I,—" that 's the fact." 
 
 " Well,"— said he, " if you have, then make 
 your statement, and I will listen." 
 
 And just imagine; he sat down, and pulling a 
 checked handkerchief from his pocket, he spread 
 it out on his knees — and the handkerchief was 
 full of holes — and gazed at me as solemnly as 
 
 ^ Old Ritualists will tolerate no others . Neither will they employ the 
 words " buy " or " sell " in connection with these ikdnas; they say 
 *' exchange."— Translator, 
 
 340
 
 THE DOG 
 
 though he had been a senator/ or some minister 
 or other; and did not ask me to sit down. And 
 what was still more astonishing, I suddenly felt 
 myself growing timid, so timid .... simply, my 
 soul sank into my heels. He pierced me through 
 and through with his eyes, and that 's all there is 
 to be said! But I recovered my self-possession, 
 and narrated to him my whole story. He re- 
 mained silent for a while, shrank together, mowed 
 with his lips, and then began to interrogate me, 
 still as though he were a senator, so majestically 
 and without haste. " What is your name? "—he 
 asked. "How old are you? Who were your 
 parents? Are you a bachelor or married? "— 
 Then he began to mow with his lips again, 
 frowned, thrust out his finger and said: 
 
 " Do reverence to the holy image of the hon- 
 ourable saints of Solovetzk,^ Zosim and Sav- 
 vaty." 
 
 I made a reverence to the earth, and did not 
 rise to my feet; such awe and submission did I 
 feel for that man that I believe I would have in- 
 stantly done anything whatsoever he might have 
 ordered me! .... I see that you are smiling, 
 gentlemen; but I was in no mood for laughing 
 then, by Heaven I was not. 
 
 " Rise, sir,"— he said at last.—" It is possible 
 to help you. This has not been sent to you by 
 
 1 The Senate in Russia is the Supreme Court of Appeals, and the 
 senators are appointed, not elected. — Translator. 
 
 2 A famous monastery on an island in the White Sea. — Translator. 
 
 341
 
 THE DOG 
 
 way of punishment, but as a warning ; it signifies 
 that you are being looked after ; some one is pray- 
 ing earnestly for you. Go now to the bazaar and 
 buy yourself a bitch, which you must keep by 
 you day and night, without ceasing. Your visions 
 will cease, and your dog will prove necessary to 
 you into the bargain." 
 
 A flash of light seemed suddenly to illuminate 
 me ; how those words did please me ! I made obei- 
 sance to Prokhoritch, and was on the point of 
 departing, but remembered that it was impossible 
 for me not to show him my gratitude; I drew a 
 three-ruble note from my pocket. But he put 
 aside my hand and said to me : 
 
 " Give it to our chapel, or to the poor, for this 
 service is gratis." 
 
 Again I made him an obeisance, nearly to the 
 girdle, and immediately marched off to the ba- 
 zaar. And fancy, no sooner had I begun to ap- 
 proach the shops when behold, a man in a frieze 
 cloak advanced to meet me, and under his arm he 
 carried a setter bitch, two months old, with light- 
 brown hair, a white muzzle, and white fore paws. 
 
 " Halt! " said I to the man in the frieze cloak; 
 " what will you take for her? " 
 
 " Two rubles in silver." 
 
 "Take three!" 
 
 The man was astonished, and thought the gen- 
 tleman had lost his mind — but I threw a bank- 
 note in his teeth, seized the bitch in my arms, and 
 
 342
 
 THE DOG 
 
 rushed to my tarantas. The coachman harnessed 
 up the horses briskly, and that same evening I 
 was at home. The dog sat on my lap during the 
 whole journey — and never uttered a sound; but 
 I kept saying to her: " Tresorushko ! Treso- 
 rushko!" I immediately gave her food and 
 water, ordered straw to be brought, put her to 
 bed, and dashed into bed mysejf . I blew out the 
 light ; darkness reigned. 
 
 "Come now, begin!"— said I.— Silence.— 
 "Do begin, thou thus and so!"— Not a sound. 
 It was laughable. I began to take courage. — 
 " Come now, begin, thou thus and so, and 't other 
 thing!" But nothing happened— there was a 
 complete lull! The only thing to be heard was 
 the bitch breathing hard. 
 
 " Filka! "-I shouted;-" Filka! Come hither, 
 stupid man!"— He entered.— " Dost thou hear 
 the dog?" 
 
 " No, master,"— said he,—" I don't hear any- 
 thing," — and began to laugh. 
 
 "And thou wilt not hear it again forever! 
 Here 's half a ruble for thee for vodka! " 
 
 " Please let me kiss your hand,"— said the fool, 
 and crawled to me in the dark. . . . My joy was 
 great, I can tell you! 
 
 " And was that the end of it all? "—asked An- 
 ton Stepanitch, no longer ironically. 
 
 The visions did cease, it is true— and there 
 were no disturbances of any sort — but wait, that 
 
 343
 
 THE DOG 
 
 was not the end of the whole matter. My Treso- 
 rushko began to grow, and turned out a cunning 
 rogue. Thick-tailed, heavy, flop-eared, with 
 drooping dewlaps, she was a regular " take-ad- 
 vance," — a thoroughgoing good setter. And 
 moreover, she became greatly attached to me. 
 Hunting is bad in our parts,— well, but as I had 
 set up a dog I had to supply myself with a gun 
 also. I began to roam about the surrounding 
 country with my Tresor; sometimes I would 
 knock over a hare (my heavens, how she did 
 course those hares!), and sometimes a quail or a 
 duck. But the chief point was that Tresor never, 
 never strayed a step away from me. Wherever I 
 went, there she went also; I even took her to the 
 bath with me — truly! One of our young gentle- 
 women undertook to eject me from her drawing- 
 room on account of Tresor; but I raised such a 
 row that I smashed some of her window-panes! 
 
 Well, sir, one day — it happened in summer. 
 .... And I must tell you that there was such a 
 drought that no one could recall its like; the air 
 was full of something which was neither smoke 
 nor fog ; there was an odour of burning, and mist, 
 and the sun was like a red-hot cannon-ball; and 
 the dust was such that one could not leave off 
 sneezing! People went about with their mouths 
 gaping open, just like crows. 
 
 It bored me to sit at home constantly in com- 
 plete undress, behind closed shutters; and by the 
 
 844
 
 THE DOG 
 
 way, the heat was beginning to moderate. . . . 
 And so, gentlemen, I set off afoot to the house of 
 one of my neighbours. This neighbour of mine 
 Hved about a verst from me,— and was really a 
 benevolent lady. She was still young and bloom- 
 ing, and of the most attractive exterior; only she 
 had a fickle disposition. But that is no detriment 
 in the feminine sex ; it even affords pleasure. . . . 
 So, then, I trudged to her porch— and that trip 
 seemed very salt to me! Well, I thought, Nim- 
 f odora Semyonovna will regale me with bilberry- 
 water, and other refreshments — and I had al- 
 ready grasped the door-handle when, suddenly, 
 around the corner of the servants' cottage there 
 arose a trampling of feet, a squealing and shout- 
 ing of small boys. ... I looked round. O Lord, 
 my God! Straight toward me was dashing a 
 huge, reddish beast, which at first sight I did not 
 recognise as a dog; its jaws were gaping, its eyes 
 were blood-shot, its hair stood on end. . . . Be- 
 fore I could take breath the monster leaped upon 
 the porch, elevated itself on its hind legs, and fell 
 straight on my breast. What do you think of 
 that situation? I was swooning with fright, and 
 could not lift my arms ; I was completely stupe- 
 fied; .... all I could see were the white tusks 
 right at the end of my nose, the red tongue all 
 swathed in foam.- But at that moment another 
 dark body soared through the air in front of me, 
 like a ball— it was my darling Tresor coming to 
 
 345
 
 THE DOG 
 
 my rescue ; and she went at that beast's throat like 
 a leech ! The beast rattled hoarsely in the throat, 
 gnashed its teeth, staggered back. . . . With one 
 jerk I tore open the door, and found myself in 
 the anteroom. I stood there, beside myself with 
 terror, threw my whole body against the lock, and 
 listened to a desperate battle which was in prog- 
 ress on the porch. I began to shout, to call for 
 help; every one in the house took alarm. Nim- 
 fodora Semyonovna ran up with hair unbraided; 
 voices clamoured in the courtyard— and suddenly 
 there came a cry: " Hold him, hold him, lock the 
 gate!" 
 
 I opened the door,— just a crack,— and looked. 
 The monster was no longer on the porch. People 
 were rushing in disorder about the courtyard, 
 flourishing their arms, picking up billets of wood 
 from the ground — just as though they had gone 
 mad. " To the village! It has run to the vil- 
 lage!" shrieked shrilly a peasant-woman in a 
 pointed coronet head-dress of unusual dimensions, 
 thrusting her head through a garret-window. I 
 emerged from the house. 
 
 "Where is Tresor? " — said I. — And at that 
 moment I caught sight of my saviour. She was 
 walking away from the gate, limping, all bitten, 
 and covered with blood. . . 
 
 "But what was it, after all?"— I asked the 
 people, as they went circling round the court- 
 yard like crazy folk. 
 
 346
 
 THE DOG 
 
 " A mad dog! "—they answered me, " belong- 
 ing to the Count; it has been roving about here 
 since yesterday." 
 
 We had a neighbour, a Count; he had intro- 
 duced some very dreadful dogs from over-sea. 
 My knees gave way beneath me; I hastened 
 to the mirror and looked to see whether I had been 
 bitten. No ; God be thanked, nothing was visible ; 
 only, naturally, my face was all green ; but Nim- 
 fodora Semyonovna was lying on the couch, and 
 clucking like a hen. And that was easily to be un- 
 derstood: in the fii'st place, nerves; in the second 
 place, sensibility. But she came to herself, and 
 asked me in a very languid way : was I alive ? I 
 told her that I was, and that Tresor was my 
 saviour. 
 
 "Akh,"— said she,— "what nobility! And I 
 suppose the mad dog smothered her? " 
 
 " No,"— said I,—" it did not smother her, but 
 it wounded her seriously." 
 
 " Akh,"— said she,—" in that case, she must 
 be shot this very moment! " 
 
 "Nothing of the sort,"— said I;— "I won't 
 agree to that; I shall try to cure her." .... 
 
 In the meanwhile, Tresor began to scratch at 
 the door; I started to open it for her. 
 
 " Akh,"— cried she,—" what are you doing? 
 Why, she will bite us all dreadfully! " 
 
 " Pardon me,"— said I,—" the poison does not 
 take effect so soon." 
 
 347
 
 THE DOG 
 
 " Akh,"— said she,—" how is that possible? 
 Why, you have gone out of your mind! " 
 
 " Nimfotchka,"— said I, — " cahn thyself; lis- 
 ten to reason. ..." 
 
 But all at once she began to scream: " Go away; 
 go away this instant with your disgusting dog! " 
 
 " I will go,"— said I. 
 
 " Instantly,"— said she, — "this very second! 
 Take thyself off, brigand," — said she,—" and 
 don't dare ever to show yourself in my sight 
 again. Thou mightest go mad thyself! " 
 
 " Very good, ma'am," — said I; " only give me 
 an equipage, for I am afraid to go home on foot 
 now." 
 
 She riveted her eyes on me. " Give, give him a 
 calash, a carriage, a drozhky, whatever he wants, 
 — anything, for the sake of getting rid of him 
 as quickly as possible. Akh, what eyes ! akh, what 
 eyes he has ! "—And with these words she flew out 
 of the room, dealing a maid who was entering 
 a box on the ear,— and I heard her go off into 
 another fit of hysterics. — And you may believe 
 me or not, gentlemen, but from that day forth 
 I broke off all acquaintance with Nimfodora 
 Semyonovna; and, taking all things into mature 
 consideration, I cannot but add that for that cir- 
 cumstance also I owe my friend Tresor a debt of 
 gratitude until I lie down in my coflin. 
 
 Well, sir, I ordered a calash to be harnessed, 
 placed Tresor in it, and drove ofi' home with her. 
 
 348
 
 THE DOG 
 
 At home I looked her over, washed her wounds, 
 and thought to myself: " I 'U take her to-morrow, 
 as soon as it is light, to the wizard in Efrem 
 County. Now this wizard was an old peasant, 
 a wonderful man; he would whisper over water 
 — but others say that he emitted serpents' venom 
 on it — and give it to you to drink, and your mal- 
 ady would instantly disappear. By the way, I 
 thought, I '11 get myself bled in Efremovo; 't is 
 a good remedy for terror; only, of course, not 
 from the arm, but from the bleeding-vein. 
 
 " But where is that place — the bleeding-vein? " 
 — inquired FinoplentofF, with bashful curiosity. 
 
 Don't you know? That spot on the fist close 
 to the thumb, on which one shakes snuff from 
 the horn. — Just here, see! 'T is the very best 
 place for blood-letting; therefore, judge for your- 
 selves ; from the arm it will be venal blood, while 
 from this spot it is sparkling. The doctors don't 
 know that, and don't understand it; how should 
 they, the sluggards, the dumb idiots? Black- 
 smiths chiefly make use of it. And what skil- 
 ful fellows they are! They '11 place their chisel 
 on the spot, give it a whack with their hammer — 
 and the deed is done! .... Well, sir, while I 
 was meditating in this wise, it had grown entirely 
 dark out of doors, and it was time to go to sleep. 
 I lay down on my bed, and Tresor, of course, was 
 there also. But whether it was because of my 
 fright or of the stifling heat, or because the fleas 
 
 349
 
 THE DOG 
 
 or my thoughts were bothersome, at any rate, I 
 could not get to sleep. Such distress fell upon 
 me as it is impossible to describe; and I kept 
 drinking water, and opening the window, and 
 thrumming the " Kamarynskaya " ^ on the guitar, 
 with Italian variations. ... In vain! I felt 
 impelled to leave the room, — and that 's all there 
 was to it. At last I made up my mind. I took a 
 pillow, a coverlet, and a sheet, and wended my 
 way across the garden to the hay-barn; well, and 
 there I settled myself. And there things were 
 agreeable to me, gentlemen; the night was still, 
 extremely still, only now and then a breeze as 
 soft as a woman's hand would blow across my 
 cheek, and it was very cool ; the hay was fragrant 
 as tea, the katydids were rasping in the apple- 
 trees; then suddenly a quail would emit its call — 
 and you would feel that he was taking his ease, 
 the scamp, sitting in the dew with his mate. . . . 
 And the sky was so magnificent; the stars were 
 twinkling, and sometimes a little cloud, as white 
 as wadding, would float past, and even it would 
 hardly stir. . . . 
 
 At this point in the narrative, Skvorevitch 
 sneezed; Kinarevitch, who never lagged behind 
 his comrade in anj^thing, sneezed also. Anton 
 Stepanitch cast a glance of approbation at both. 
 
 Well, sir— [went on Porfiry Kapitonitch], — 
 
 * A vivacious and favourite popular dance-tune. It is several centuries 
 old, and of interesting historical origin.— Translator. 
 
 350
 
 THE DOG 
 
 so I lay there, and still I could not get to sleep. 
 A fit of meditation had seized upon me; and I 
 pondered chiefly over the great marvel, how that 
 Prokhoritch had rightly explained to me about 
 the warning — and why such wonders should hap- 
 pen to me in particular. ... I was astonished, 
 in fact, because I could not understand it at all 
 — while Tresorushko whimpered as she curled 
 herself up on the hay; her wounds were paining 
 her. And I '11 tell you another thing that kept 
 me from sleeping — you will hardly believe it; the 
 moon! It stood right in front of me, so round 
 and big and yellow and flat ; and it seemed to me 
 as though it were staring at me — by Heaven it 
 did ; and so arrogantly, importunately. . . . At last 
 I stuck my tongue out at it, I really did. Come, 
 I thought, what art thou so curious about? I 
 turned away from it; but it crawled into my ear, 
 it illuminated the back of my head, and flooded 
 me as though with rain; I opened my eyes, and 
 what did I see? It made every blade of grass, 
 every wretched little blade in the hay, the 
 most insignificant spider's web, stand out dis- 
 tinctly! " Well, look, then! " said I. There was 
 no help for it. I propped my head on my hand 
 and began to stare at it. But I could not keep it 
 up ; if you will believe it, my eyes began to stick 
 out like a hare's and to open very wide indeed, 
 just as though they did not know what sleep was 
 like. I think I could have eaten up everything 
 
 351
 
 THE DOG 
 
 with those same eyes. The gate of the hay-barn 
 stood wide open ; I could see for a distance of five 
 versts out on the plain ; and distinctly, not in the 
 usual way on a moonhght night. So I gazed and 
 gazed, and did not even wink. . . . And sud- 
 denly it seemed to me as though something were 
 waving about far, far away .... exactly as 
 though things were glimmering indistinctly be- 
 fore my eyes. Some time elapsed ; again a shadow 
 leaped across my vision, — a little nearer now; 
 then again, still nearer. What is it? I thought. 
 Can it be a hare? No, I thought, it is larger than 
 a hare, and its gait is unlike that of a hare. I 
 continued to look, and again the shadow showed 
 itself, and it was moving now across the pasture- 
 land (and the pasture-land was whitish from the 
 moonlight) like a very large spot; it was plain 
 that it was some sort of a wild beast — a fox or 
 a wolf. My heart contracted within me .... 
 but what was I afraid of, after all? Are n't there 
 plenty of wild animals running about the fields 
 by night? But my curiosity was stronger than 
 my fears; I rose up, opened my eyes very wide, 
 and suddenly turned cold all over. I fairly 
 froze rigid on the spot, as though I had been 
 buried in ice up to my ears ; and why? The Lord 
 only knows! And I saw the shadow growing 
 bigger and bigger, which meant that it was mak- 
 ing straight for the hay-barn. . . . And then it 
 became apparent to me that it really was a large, 
 
 352
 
 THE DOG 
 
 big-headed wild beast. ... It dashed onward 
 like a whirlwind, like a bullet. . . . Good heav- 
 ens! What was it? Suddenly it stopped short, 
 as though it scented something. . . . Why, 
 it was the mad dog I had encountered that day! 
 'T was he, 't was he ! O Lord ! And I could not 
 stir a finger, I could not shout. ... It ran to the 
 gate, glared about with its eyes, emitted a howl, 
 and dashed straight for me on the hay ! 
 
 But out of the hay, like a lion, sprang my Tre- 
 sor; and then the struggle began. The two 
 chnched jaw to jaw, and rolled over the ground 
 in a ball! What took place further I do not re- 
 member; all I do remember is that I flew head 
 over heels across them, just as I was, into the 
 garden, into the house, and into my own bed- 
 room! .... I almost dived under the bed — 
 there 's no use in concealing the fact. And what 
 leaps, what bounds I made in the garden! You 
 would have taken me for the leading ballerina 
 who dances before the Emperor Napoleon on the 
 day of his Angel — and even she could n't have 
 overtaken m.e. But when I had recovered myself 
 a little, I immediately routed out the entire house- 
 hold; I ordered them all to arm themselves, and 
 I myself took a sword and a revolver. (I must 
 confess that I had purchased that revolver after 
 the Emancipation, in case of need, you know — 
 only I had hit upon such a beast of a pedlar that 
 out of three charges two inevitably missed fire.) 
 
 353
 
 THE DOG 
 
 Well, sir, I took all this, and in this guise we sal- 
 lied forth, in a regular horde, with staves and 
 lanterns, and directed our footsteps toward the 
 hay-barn. We reached it and called — nothing 
 was to be heard; we entered the barn at last. 
 .... And what did we see? My poor Treso- 
 rushko lay dead, with her throat slit, and that ac- 
 cursed beast had vanished without leaving a trace ! 
 
 Then, gentlemen, I began to bleat like a calf, 
 and I will say it without shame ; I fell down on the 
 body of my twofold rescuer, so to speak, and 
 kissed her head for a long time. And there I 
 remained in that attitude until my old house- 
 keeper, Praskovya, brought me to my senses (she 
 also had run out at the uproar) . 
 
 " Why do you grieve so over the dog, Porfiry 
 Stepanitch? " — said she. " You will surely catch 
 cold, which God forbid!" (I was very lightly 
 clad.) "And if that dog lost her life in saving 
 you, she ought to reckon it as a great favour! " 
 
 Although I did not agree with Praskovya, I 
 went back to the house. And the mad dog was 
 shot on the following day by a soldier from the 
 garrison. And it must have been that that was 
 the end appointed by Fate to the dog, for the 
 soldier fired a gun for the first time in his life, 
 although he had a medal for service in the year 
 '12. So that is the supernatural occurrence which 
 happened to me. 
 
 354
 
 THE DOG 
 
 The narrator ceased speaking and began to fill 
 his pipe. But we all exchanged glances of sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " But perhaps you lead a very upright life," 
 —began Mr. FinoplentofF,— " and so by way of 
 reward . . . . " But at that word he faltered, 
 for he saw that Porf fry Kapitonitch's cheeks were 
 beginning to swell out and turn red, and his eyes 
 too were beginning to pucker up — evidently the 
 man was on the point of breaking out. . . . 
 
 " But admitting the possibility of the super- 
 natural, the possibility of its interference in 
 everyday life, so to speak," — began Anton Ste- 
 panitch: — " then what role, after this, must sound 
 sense play? " 
 
 None of us found any answer, and, as before, 
 we remained perplexed. 
 
 355
 
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