STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS

RUSSIAN

MUMU. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. BY IVAN TURGENEV

THE SHOT. .. .. .. .. .. .. BY ALEXANDER POUSHKIN

ST. JOHN'S EVE. .. .. .. BY NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. . BY LYOF N. TOLSTOI

NEW YORK1898

CONTENTS

MUMU. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Ivan TurgenevTHE SHOT. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Alexander PoushkinST. JOHN'S EVE. .. .. .. .. Nikolai Vasilievitch GogolAN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. .. Lyof N. Tolstoi

MUMU

BY

IVAN TURGENEV

From "Torrents of Spring. " Translated by Constance Garnett. 

In one of the outlying streets of Moscow, in a gray house with whitecolumns and a balcony, warped all askew, there was once living a lady, awidow, surrounded by a numerous household of serfs. Her sons were in thegovernment service at Petersburg; her daughters were married; she wentout very little, and in solitude lived through the last years of hermiserly and dreary old age. Her day, a joyless and gloomy day, had longbeen over; but the evening of her life was blacker than night. 

Of all her servants, the most remarkable personage was the porter, Gerasim, a man full twelve inches over the normal height, of heroicbuild, and deaf and dumb from his birth. The lady, his owner, hadbrought him up from the village where he lived alone in a little hut, apart from his brothers, and was reckoned about the most punctual of herpeasants in the payment of the seignorial dues. Endowed withextraordinary strength, he did the work of four men; work flew apaceunder his hands, and it was a pleasant sight to see him when he wasploughing, while, with his huge palms pressing hard upon the plough, heseemed alone, unaided by his poor horse, to cleave the yielding bosom ofthe earth, or when, about St. Peter's Day, he plied his scythe with afurious energy that might have mown a young birch copse up by the roots, or swiftly and untiringly wielded a flail over two yards long; while thehard oblong muscles of his shoulders rose and fell like a lever. Hisperpetual silence lent a solemn dignity to his unwearying labor. He wasa splendid peasant, and, except for his affliction, any girl would havebeen glad to marry him. . . But now they had taken Gerasim to Moscow, bought him boots, had him made a full-skirted coat for summer, asheepskin for winter, put into his hand a broom and a spade, andappointed him porter. 

At first he intensely disliked his new mode of life. From his childhoodhe had been used to field labor, to village life. Shut off by hisaffliction from the society of men, he had grown up, dumb and mighty, asa tree grows on a fruitful soil. When he was transported to the town, hecould not understand what was being done with him; he was miserable andstupefied, with the stupefaction of some strong young bull, takenstraight from the meadow, where the rich grass stood up to his belly, taken and put in the truck of a railway train, and there, while smokeand sparks and gusts of steam puff out upon the sturdy beast, he iswhirled onwards, whirled along with loud roar and whistle, whither--Godknows! What Gerasim had to do in his new duties seemed a mere trifle tohim after his hard toil as a peasant; in half an hour all his work wasdone, and he would once more stand stock-still in the middle of thecourtyard, staring open-mouthed at all the passers-by, as though tryingto wrest from them the explanation of his perplexing position; or hewould suddenly go off into some corner, and flinging a long way off thebroom or the spade, throw himself on his face on the ground, and lie forhours together without stirring, like a caged beast. But man gets usedto anything, and Gerasim got used at last to living in town. He hadlittle work to do; his whole duty consisted in keeping the courtyardclean, bringing in a barrel of water twice a day, splitting and draggingin wood for the kitchen and the house, keeping out strangers, andwatching at night. And it must be said he did his duty zealously. In hiscourtyard there was never a shaving lying about, never a speck of dust;if sometimes, in the muddy season, the wretched nag, put under hischarge for fetching water, got stuck in the road, he would simply giveit a shove with his shoulder, and set not only the cart but the horseitself moving. If he set to chopping wood, the axe fairly rang likeglass, and chips and chunks flew in all directions. And as forstrangers, after he had one night caught two thieves and knocked theirheads together--knocked them so that there was not the slightest need totake them to the police-station afterwards--every one in theneighborhood began to feel a great respect for him; even those who camein the daytime, by no means robbers, but simply unknown persons, at thesight of the terrible porter, waved and shouted to him as though hecould hear their shouts. With all the rest of the servants, Gerasim wason terms hardly friendly--they were afraid of him--but familiar; heregarded them as his fellows. They explained themselves to him by signs, and he understood them, and exactly carried out all orders, but knew hisown rights too, and soon no one dared to take his seat at the table. Gerasim was altogether of a strict and serious temper, he liked order ineverything; even the cocks did not dare to fight in his presence, or woebetide them! Directly he caught sight of them, he would seize them bythe legs, swing them ten times round in the air like a wheel, and throwthem in different directions. There were geese, too, kept in the yard;but the goose, as is well known, is a dignified and reasonable bird:Gerasim felt a respect for them, looked after them, and fed them; he washimself not unlike a gander of the steppes. He was assigned a littlegarret over the kitchen; he arranged it himself to his own liking, madea bedstead in it of oak boards on four stumps of wood for legs--a trulyTitanic bedstead; one might have put a ton or two on it--it would nothave bent under the load; under the bed was a solid chest; in a cornerstood a little table of the same strong kind, and near the table athree-legged stool, so solid and squat that Gerasim himself wouldsometimes pick it up and drop it again with a smile of delight. Thegarret was locked up by means of a padlock that looked like a kalatch orbasket-shaped loaf, only black; the key of this padlock Gerasim alwayscarried about him in his girdle. He did not like people to come to hisgarret. 

So passed a year, at the end of which a little incident befell Gerasim. 

The old lady, in whose service he lived as porter, adhered in everythingto the ancient ways, and kept a large number of servants. In her housewere not only laundresses, sempstresses, carpenters, tailors andtailoresses, there was even a harness-maker--he was reckoned as aveterinary surgeon, too, --and a doctor for the servants; there was ahousehold doctor for the mistress; there was, lastly, a shoemaker, byname Kapiton Klimov, a sad drunkard. Klimov regarded himself as aninjured creature, whose merits were unappreciated, a cultivated man fromPetersburg, who ought not to be living in Moscow without occupation--inthe wilds, so to speak; and if he drank, as he himself expressed itemphatically, with a blow on his chest, it was sorrow drove him to it. So one day his mistress had a conversation about him with her headsteward, Gavrila, a man whom, judging solely from his little yellow eyesand nose like a duck's beak, fate itself, it seemed, had marked out as aperson in authority. The lady expressed her regret at the corruption ofthe morals of Kapiton, who had, only the evening before, been picked upsomewhere in the street. 

"Now, Gavrila, " she observed, all of a sudden, "now, if we were to marryhim, what do you think, perhaps he would be steadier?"

"Why not marry him, indeed, 'm? He could be married, 'm, " answeredGavrila, "and it would be a very good thing, to be sure, 'm. "

"Yes; only who is to marry him?"

"Ay, 'm. But that's at your pleasure, 'm. He may, any way, so to say, bewanted for something; he can't be turned adrift altogether. "

"I fancy he likes Tatiana. "

Gavrila was on the point of making some reply, but he shut his lipstightly. 

"Yes! . . . Let him marry Tatiana, " the lady decided, taking a pinch ofsnuff complacently, "Do you hear?"

"Yes, 'm, " Gavrila articulated, and he withdrew. 

Returning to his own room (it was in a little lodge, and was almostfilled up with metal-bound trunks), Gavrila first sent his wife away, and then sat down at the window and pondered. His mistress's unexpectedarrangement had clearly put him in a difficulty. At last he got up andsent to call Kapiton. Kapiton made his appearance. . . But beforereporting their conversation to the reader, we consider it not out ofplace to relate in few words who was this Tatiana, whom it was to beKapiton's lot to marry, and why the great lady's order had disturbed thesteward. 

Tatiana, one of the laundresses referred to above (as a trained andskilful laundress she was in charge of the fine linen only), was a womanof twenty-eight, thin, fair-haired, with moles on her left cheek. Moleson the left cheek are regarded as of evil omen in Russia--a token ofunhappy life. . . Tatiana could not boast of her good luck. From herearliest youth she had been badly treated; she had done the work of two, and had never known affection; she had been poorly clothed and hadreceived the smallest wages. Relations she had practically none; anuncle she had once had, a butler, left behind in the country as useless, and other uncles of hers were peasants--that was all. At one time shehad passed for a beauty, but her good looks were very soon over. Indisposition, she was very meek, or, rather, scared; towards herself, shefelt perfect indifference; of others, she stood in mortal dread; shethought of nothing but how to get her work done in good time, nevertalked to any one, and trembled at the very name of her mistress, thoughthe latter scarcely knew her by sight. When Gerasim was brought from thecountry, she was ready to die with fear on seeing his huge figure, triedall she could to avoid meeting him, even dropped her eyelids whensometimes she chanced to run past him, hurrying from the house to thelaundry. Gerasim at first paid no special attention to her, then he usedto smile when she came his way, then he began even to stare admiringlyat her, and at last he never took his eyes off her. She took his fancy, whether by the mild expression of her face or the timidity of hermovements, who can tell? So one day she was stealing across the yard, with a starched dressing-jacket of her mistress's carefully poised on heroutspread fingers . . . Some one suddenly grasped her vigorously by theelbow; she turned round and fairly screamed; behind her stood Gerasim. With a foolish smile, making inarticulate caressing grunts, he held outto her a gingerbread cock with gold tinsel on his tail and wings. Shewas about to refuse it, but he thrust it forcibly into her hand, shookhis head, walked away, and turning round, once more grunted somethingvery affectionately to her. 

From that day forward he gave her no peace; wherever she went, he was onthe spot at once, coming to meet her, smiling, grunting, waving hishands; all at once he would pull a ribbon out of the bosom of his smockand put it in her hand, or would sweep the dust out of her way. The poorgirl simply did not know how to behave or what to do. Soon the wholehousehold knew of the dumb porter's wiles; jeers, jokes, sly hints, wereshowered upon Tatiana. At Gerasim, however, it was not every one whowould dare to scoff; he did not like jokes; indeed, in his presence, she, too, was left in peace. Whether she liked it or not, the girl foundherself to be under his protection. Like all deaf-mutes, he was verysuspicious, and very readily perceived when they were laughing at him orat her. One day, at dinner, the wardrobe-keeper, Tatiana's superior, fell to nagging, as it is called, at her, and brought the poor thing tosuch a state that she did not know where to look, and was almost cryingwith vexation. Gerasim got up all of a sudden, stretched out hisgigantic hand, laid it on the wardrobe-maid's head, and looked into herface with such grim ferocity that her head positively flopped upon thetable. Every one was still. Gerasim took up his spoon again and went onwith his cabbage-soup. "Look at him, the dumb devil, the wood-demon!"they all muttered in undertones, while the wardrobe-maid got up and wentout into the maid's room. Another time, noticing that Kapiton--the sameKapiton who was the subject of the conversation reported above--wasgossiping somewhat too attentively with Tatiana, Gerasim beckoned him tohim, led him into the cartshed, and taking up a shaft that was standingin a corner by one end, lightly, but most significantly, menaced himwith it. Since then no one addressed a word to Tatiana. And all thiscost him nothing. It is true the wardrobe-maid, as soon as she reachedthe maids' room, promptly fell into a fainting fit, and behavedaltogether so skilfully that Gerasim's rough action reached hismistress's knowledge the same day. But the capricious old lady onlylaughed, and several times, to the great offence of the wardrobe-maid, forced her to repeat "how he bent your head down with his heavy hand, "and next day she sent Gerasim a rouble. She looked on him with favor asa strong and faithful watchman. Gerasim stood in considerable awe ofher, but, all the same, he had hopes of her favor, and was preparing togo to her with a petition for leave to marry Tatiana. He was onlywaiting for a new coat, promised him by the steward, to present a properappearance before his mistress, when this same mistress suddenly took itinto her head to marry Tatiana to Kapiton. 

The reader will now readily understand the perturbation of mind thatovertook the steward Gavrila after his conversation with his mistress. "My lady, " he thought, as he sat at the window, "favors Gerasim, to besure"--(Gavrila was well aware of this, and that was why he himselflooked on him with an indulgent eye)--"still he is a speechlesscreature. I could not, indeed, put it before the mistress that Gerasim'scourting Tatiana. But, after all, it's true enough; he's a queer sort ofhusband. But on the other hand, that devil, God forgive me, has only gotto find out they're marrying Tatiana to Kapiton, he'll smash upeverything in the house, 'pon my soul! There's no reasoning with him;why, he's such a devil, God forgive my sins, there's no getting over himnohow . . . 'pon my soul!"

Kapiton's entrance broke the thread of Gavrila's reflections. Thedissipated shoemaker came in, his hands behind him, and loungingcarelessly against a projecting angle of the wall, near the door, crossed his right foot in front of his left, and tossed his head, asmuch as to say, "What do you want?"

Gavrila looked at Kapiton, and drummed with his fingers on the window-frame. Kapiton merely screwed up his leaden eyes a little, but he didnot look down; he even grinned slightly, and passed his hand over hiswhitish locks which were sticking up in all directions. "Well, here Iam. What is it?"

"You're a pretty fellow, " said Gavrila, and paused. "A pretty fellow youare, there's no denying!"

Kapiton only twitched his little shoulders. "Are you any better, pray?"he thought to himself. 

"Just look at yourself, now, look at yourself, " Gavrila went onreproachfully; "now, whatever do you look like?"

Kapiton serenely surveyed his shabby, tattered coat and his patchedtrousers, and with special attention stared at his burst boots, especially the one on the tiptoe of which his right foot so gracefullypoised, and he fixed his eyes again on the steward. 

"Well?"

"Well?" repeated Gavrila. "Well? And then you say well? You look likeOld Nick himself, God forgive my saying so, that's what you look like. "

Kapiton blinked rapidly. 

"Go on abusing me, go on, if you like, Gavrila Andreitch, " he thought tohimself again. 

"Here you've been drunk again, " Gavrila began, "drunk again, haven'tyou? Eh? Come, answer me!"

"Owing to the weakness of my health, I have exposed myself to spirituousbeverages, certainly, " replied Kapiton. 

"Owing to the weakness of your health! . . . They let you off too easy, that's what it is; and you've been apprenticed in Petersburg. . . Much youlearned in your apprenticeship! You simply eat your bread in idleness. "

"In that matter, Gavrila Andreitch, there is One to judge me, the LordGod Himself, and no one else. He also knows what manner of man I be inthis world, and whether I eat my bread in idleness. And as concerningyour contention regarding drunkenness, in that matter, too, I am not toblame, but rather a friend; he led me into temptation, but wasdiplomatic and got away, while I . . . "

"While you were left like a goose, in the street. Ah, you're a dissolutefellow! But that's not the point, " the steward went on, "I've somethingto tell you. Our lady . . . " here he paused a minute, "it's our lady'spleasure that you should be married. Do you hear? She imagines you maybe steadier when you're married. Do you understand?"

"To be sure I do. "

"Well, then. For my part I think it would be better to give you a goodhiding. But there--it's her business. Well? are you agreeable?"

Kapiton grinned. 

"Matrimony is an excellent thing for any one, Gavrila Andreitch; and, asfar as I am concerned, I shall be quite agreeable. "

"Very well, then, " replied Gavrila, while he reflected to himself:"There's no denying the man expresses himself very properly. Onlythere's one thing, " he pursued aloud: "the wife our lady's picked outfor you is an unlucky choice. "

"Why, who is she, permit me to inquire?"

"Tatiana. "

"Tatiana?"

And Kapiton opened his eyes, and moved a little away from the wall. 

"Well, what are you in such a taking for? . . . Isn't she to your taste, hey?"

"Not to my taste, do you say, Gavrila Andreitch? She's right enough, ahard-working steady girl. . . But you know very well yourself, GavrilaAndreitch, why that fellow, that wild man of the woods, that monster ofthe steppes, he's after her, you know. . . "

"I know, mate, I know all about it, " the butler cut him short in a toneof annoyance: "but there, you see . . . "

"But upon my soul, Gavrila Andreitch! why, he'll kill me, by God, hewill, he'll crush me like some fly; why, he's got a fist--why, youkindly look yourself what a fist he's got; why, he's simply got a fistlike Minin Pozharsky's. You see he's deaf, he beats and does not hearhow he's beating! He swings his great fists, as if he's asleep. Andthere's no possibility of pacifying him; and for why? Why, because, asyou know yourself, Gavrila Andreitch, he's deaf, and what's more, has nomore wit than the heel of my foot. Why, he's a sort of beast, a heathenidol, Gavrila Andreitch, and worse . . . A block of wood; what have I donethat I should have to suffer from him now? Sure it is, it's all over menow; I've knocked about, I've had enough to put up with, I've beenbattered like an earthenware pot, but still I'm a man, after all, andnot a worthless pot. "

"I know, I know, don't go talking away. . . "

"Lord, my God!" the shoemaker continued warmly, "when is the end? when, O Lord! A poor wretch I am, a poor wretch whose sufferings are endless!What a life, what a life mine's been come to think of it! In my youngdays, I was beaten by a German I was 'prentice to; in the prime of lifebeaten by my own countrymen, and last of all, in ripe years, see what Ihave been brought to. . . "

"Ugh, you flabby soul!" said Gavrila Andreitch. "Why do you make so manywords about it?"

"Why, do you say, Gavrila Andreitch? It's not a beating I'm afraid of, Gavrila Andreitch. A gentleman may chastise me in private, but give me acivil word before folks, and I'm a man still; but see now, whom I've todo with . . . "

"Come, get along, " Gavrila interposed impatiently. Kapiton turned awayand staggered off. 

"But, if it were not for him, " the steward shouted after him, "you wouldconsent for your part?"

"I signify my acquiescence, " retorted Kapiton as he disappeared. 

His fine language did not desert him, even in the most trying positions. 

The steward walked several times up and down the room. 

"Well, call Tatiana now, " he said at last. 

A few instants later, Tatiana had come up almost noiselessly, and wasstanding in the doorway. 

"What are your orders, Gavrila Andreitch?" she said in a soft voice. 

The steward looked at her intently. 

"Well, Taniusha, " he said, "would you like to be married? Our lady haschosen a husband for you?"

"Yes, Gavrila Andreitch. And whom has she deigned to name as a husbandfor me?" she added falteringly. 

"Kapiton, the shoemaker. "

"Yes, sir. "

"He's a feather-brained fellow, that's certain. But it's just for thatthe mistress reckons upon you. "

"Yes, sir. "

"There's one difficulty . . . You know the deaf man, Gerasim, he's courtingyou, you see. How did you come to bewitch such a bear? But you see, he'll kill you, very like, he's such a bear . . . "

"He'll kill me, Gavrila Andreitch, he'll kill me, and no mistake. "

"Kill you . . . Well we shall see about that. What do you mean by sayinghe'll kill you? Has he any right to kill you? tell me yourself. "

"I don't know, Gavrila Andreitch, about his having any right or not. "

"What a woman! why, you've made him no promise, I suppose . . . "

"What are you pleased to ask of me?"

The steward was silent for a little, thinking, "You're a meek soul!Well, that's right, " he said aloud; "we'll have another talk with youlater, now you can go, Taniusha; I see you're not unruly, certainly. "

Tatiana turned, steadied herself a little against the doorpost, and wentaway. 

"And, perhaps, our lady will forget all about this wedding by to-morrow, " thought the steward; "and here am I worrying myself fornothing! As for that insolent fellow, we must tie him down if it comesto that, we must let the police know . . . Ustinya Fyedorovna!" he shoutedin a loud voice to his wife, "heat the samovar, my good soul . . . " Allthat day Tatiana hardly went out of the laundry. At first she hadstarted crying, then she wiped away her tears, and set to work asbefore. Kapiton stayed till late at night at the gin-shop with a friendof his, a man of gloomy appearance, to whom he related in detail how heused to live in Petersburg with a gentleman, who would have been allright, except he was a bit too strict, and he had a slight weaknessbesides, he was too fond of drink; and, as to the fair sex, he didn'tstick at anything. His gloomy companion merely said yes; but whenKapiton announced at last that, in a certain event, he would have to layhands on himself to-morrow, his gloomy companion remarked that it wasbedtime. And they parted in surly silence. 

Meanwhile, the steward's anticipations were not fulfilled. The old ladywas so much taken up with the idea of Kapiton's wedding, that even inthe night she talked of nothing else to one of her companions, who waskept in her house solely to entertain her in case of sleeplessness, and, like a night cabman, slept in the day. When Gavrila came to her aftermorning tea with his report, her first question was: "And how about ourwedding--is it getting on all right?" He replied, of course, that it wasgetting on first-rate, and that Kapiton would appear before her to payhis reverence to her that day. The old lady was not quite well; she didnot give much time to business. The steward went back to his own room, and called a council. The matter certainly called for seriousconsideration. Tatiana would make no difficulty, of course; but Kapitonhad declared in the hearing of all that he had but one head to lose, nottwo or three. . . Gerasim turned rapid sullen looks on every one, wouldnot budge from the steps of the maids' quarters, and seemed to guessthat some mischief was being hatched against him. They met together. Among them was an old sideboard waiter, nicknamed Uncle Tail, to whomevery one looked respectfully for counsel, though all they got out ofhim was, "Here's a pretty pass! to be sure, to be sure, to be sure!" Asa preliminary measure of security, to provide against contingencies, they locked Kapiton up in the lumber-room where the filter was kept;then considered the question with the gravest deliberation. It would, tobe sure, be easy to have recourse to force. But Heaven save us! Therewould be an uproar, the mistress would be put out--it would be awful!What should they do? They thought and thought, and at last thought out asolution. It had many a time been observed that Gerasim could not beardrunkards. . . . As he sat at the gates, he would always turn away withdisgust when some one passed by intoxicated, with unsteady steps and hiscap on one side of his ear. They resolved that Tatiana should beinstructed to pretend to be tipsy, and should pass by Gerasim staggeringand reeling about. The poor girl refused for a long while to agree tothis, but they persuaded her at last; she saw, too, that it was the onlypossible way of getting rid of her adorer. She went out. Kapiton wasreleased from the lumber-room; for, after all, he had an interest in theaffair. Gerasim was sitting on the curbstone at the gates, scraping theground with a spade. . . . From behind every corner, from behind everywindow-blind, the others were watching him. . . . The trick succeededbeyond all expectations. On seeing Tatiana, at first, he nodded as usual, making caressing, inarticulate sounds; then he looked carefully at her, dropped his spade, jumped up, went up to her, brought his face close toher face. . . . In her fright she staggered more than ever, and shut hereyes. . . . He took her by the arm, whirled her right across the yard, andgoing into the room where the council had been sitting, pushed herstraight at Kapiton. Tatiana fairly swooned away. . . . Gerasim stood, looked at her, waved his hand, laughed, and went off, stepping heavily, to his garret. . . . For the next twenty-four hours he did not come out ofit. The postilion Antipka said afterwards that he saw Gerasim through acrack in the wall, sitting on his bedstead, his face in his hand. Fromtime to time he uttered soft regular sounds; he was wailing a dirge, that is, swaying backwards and forwards with his eyes shut, and shakinghis head as drivers or bargemen do when they chant their melancholysongs. Antipka could not bear it, and he came away from the crack. WhenGerasim came out of the garret next day, no particular change could beobserved in him. He only seemed, as it were, more morose, and took notthe slightest notice of Tatiana or Kapiton. The same evening, they bothhad to appear before their mistress with geese under their arms, and ina week's time they were married. Even on the day of the wedding Gerasimshowed no change of any sort in his behavior. Only, he came back fromthe river without water, he had somehow broken the barrel on the road;and at night, in the stable, he washed and rubbed down his horse sovigorously, it swayed like a blade of grass in the wind, and staggeredfrom one leg to the other under his fists of iron. 

All this had taken place in the spring. Another year passed by, duringwhich Kapiton became a hopeless drunkard, and as being absolutely of nouse for anything, was sent away with the store wagons to a distantvillage with his wife. On the day of his departure, he put a very goodface on it at first, and declared that he would always be at home, sendhim where they would, even to the other end of the world; but later onhe lost heart, began grumbling that he was being taken to uneducatedpeople, and collapsed so completely at last that he could not even puthis own hat on. Some charitable soul stuck it on his forehead, set thepeak straight in front, and thrust it on with a slap from above. Wheneverything was quite ready, and the peasants already held the reins intheir hands, and were only waiting for the words "With God's blessing!"to start, Gerasim came out of his garret, went up to Tatiana, and gaveher as a parting present a red cotton handkerchief he had bought for hera year ago. Tatiana, who had up to that instant borne all the revoltingdetails of her life with great indifference, could not control herselfupon that; she burst into tears, and as she took her seat in the cart, she kissed Gerasim three times like a good Christian. He meant toaccompany her as far as the town-barrier, and did walk beside her cartfor a while, but he stopped suddenly at the Crimean ford, waved hishand, and walked away along the riverside. 

It was getting towards evening. He walked slowly, watching the water. All of a sudden he fancied something was floundering in the mud close tothe bank. He stooped over, and saw a little white-and-black puppy, who, in spite of all its efforts, could not get out of the water; it wasstruggling, slipping back, and trembling all over its thin wet littlebody. Gerasim looked at the unlucky little dog, picked it up with onehand, put it into the bosom of his coat, and hurried with long stepshomewards. He went into his garret, put the rescued puppy on his bed, covered it with his thick overcoat, ran first to the stable for straw, and then to the kitchen for a cup of milk. Carefully folding back theovercoat, and spreading out the straw, he set the milk on the bedstead. The poor little puppy was not more than three weeks old, its eyes werejust open--one eye still seemed rather larger than the other; it did notknow how to lap out of a cup, and did nothing but shiver and blink. Gerasim took hold of its head softly with two fingers, and dipped itslittle nose into the milk. The pup suddenly began lapping greedily, sniffing, shaking itself, and choking. Gerasim watched and watched it, and all at once he laughed outright. . . . All night long he was waitingon it, keeping it covered, and rubbing it dry. He fell asleep himself atlast, and slept quietly and happily by its side. 

No mother could have looked after her baby as Gerasim looked after hislittle nursling. At first she--for the pup turned out to be a bitch--wasvery weak, feeble, and ugly, but by degrees she grew stronger andimproved in looks, and, thanks to the unflagging care of her preserver, in eight months' time she was transformed into a very pretty dog of thespaniel breed, with long ears, a bushy spiral tail, and large, expressive eyes. She was devotedly attached to Gerasim, and was never ayard from his side; she always followed him about wagging her tail. Hehad even given her a name--the dumb know that their inarticulate noisescall the attention of others. He called her Mumu. All the servants inthe house liked her, and called her Mumu, too. She was very intelligent, she was friendly with every one, but was only fond of Gerasim. Gerasim, on his side, loved her passionately, and he did not like it when otherpeople stroked her; whether he was afraid for her, or jealous--Godknows! She used to wake him in the morning, pulling at his coat; sheused to take the reins in her mouth, and bring him up the old horse thatcarried the water, with whom she was on very friendly terms. With a faceof great importance, she used to go with him to the river; she used towatch his brooms and spades, and never allowed any one to go into hisgarret. He cut a little hole in his door on purpose for her, and sheseemed to feel that only in Gerasim's garret she was completely mistressand at home; and directly she went in, she used to jump with a satisfiedair upon the bed. At night she did not sleep at all, but she neverbarked without sufficient cause, like some stupid house-dog, who, sitting on its hind-legs, blinking, with its nose in the air, barkssimply from dullness, at the stars, usually three times in succession. No! Mumu's delicate little voice was never raised without good reason;either some stranger was passing close to the fence, or there was somesuspicious sound or rustle somewhere. . . . In fact, she was an excellentwatch-dog. It is true that there was another dog in the yard, a tawnyold dog with brown spots, called Wolf, but he was never, even at night, let off the chain; and, indeed, he was so decrepit that he did not evenwish for freedom. He used to lie curled up in his kennel, and onlyrarely uttered a sleepy, almost noiseless bark, which broke off at once, as though he were himself aware of its uselessness. Mumu never went intothe mistress's house; and when Gerasim carried wood into the rooms, shealways stayed behind, impatiently waiting for him at the steps, prickingup her ears and turning her head to right and to left at the slightestcreak of the door . . . 

So passed another year. Gerasim went on performing his duties as house-porter, and was very well content with his lot, when suddenly anunexpected incident occurred. . . . One fine summer day the old lady waswalking up and down the drawing-room with her dependants. She was inhigh spirits; she laughed and made jokes. Her servile companions laughedand joked too, but they did not feel particularly mirthful; thehousehold did not much like it, when their mistress was in a livelymood, for, to begin with, she expected from every one prompt andcomplete participation in her merriment, and was furious if any oneshowed a face that did not beam with delight; and secondly, theseoutbursts never lasted long with her, and were usually followed by asour and gloomy mood. That day she had got up in a lucky hour; at cardsshe took the four knaves, which means the fulfilment of one's wishes(she used to try her fortune on the cards every morning), and her teastruck her as particularly delicious, for which her maid was rewarded bywords of praise, and by twopence in money. With a sweet smile on herwrinkled lips, the lady walked about the drawing-room and went up to thewindow. A flower-garden had been laid out before the window, and in thevery middle bed, under a rosebush, lay Mumu busily gnawing a bone. Thelady caught sight of her. 

"Mercy on us!" she cried suddenly; "what dog is that?"

The companion, addressed by the old lady, hesitated, poor thing, in thatwretched state of uneasiness which is common in any person in adependent position who doesn't know very well what significance to giveto the exclamation of a superior. 

"I d . . . D . . . Don't know, " she faltered; "I fancy it's the dumb man'sdog. "

"Mercy!" the lady cut her short; "but it's a charming little dog! orderit to be brought in. Has he had it long? How is it I've never seen itbefore? . . . Order it to be brought in. "

The companion flew at once into the hall. 

"Boy, boy!" she shouted; "bring Mumu in at once! She's in the flower-garden. "

"Her name's Mumu then, " observed the lady; "a very nice name. "

"Oh, very, indeed!" chimed in the companion. "Make haste, Stepan!"

Stepan, a sturdy-built young fellow, whose duties were those of afootman, rushed headlong into the flower-garden, and tried to captureMumu, but she cleverly slipped from his fingers, and with her tail inthe air, fled full speed to Gerasim, who was at that instant in thekitchen, knocking out and cleaning a barrel, turning it upside down inhis hands like a child's drum. Stepan ran after her, and tried to catchher just at her master's feet; but the sensible dog would not let astranger touch her, and with a bound, she got away. Gerasim looked onwith a smile at all this ado; at last, Stepan got up, much amazed, andhurriedly explained to him by signs that the mistress wanted the dogbrought in to her. Gerasim was a little astonished; he called Mumu, however, picked her up, and handed her over to Stepan. Stepan carriedher into the drawing-room, and put her down on the parquette floor. Theold lady began calling the dog to her in a coaxing voice. Mumu, who hadnever in her life been in such magnificent apartments, was very muchfrightened, and made a rush for the door, but, being driven back by theobsequious Stepan, she began trembling, and huddled close up against thewall. 

"Mumu, Mumu, come to me, come to your mistress, " said the lady; "come, silly thing . . . Don't be afraid. "

"Come, Mumu, come to the mistress, " repeated the companions. "Comealong!"

But Mumu looked round her uneasily, and did not stir. 

"Bring her something to eat, " said the old lady. "How stupid she is! shewon't come to her mistress. What's she afraid of?"

"She's not used to your honor yet, " ventured one of the companions in atimid and conciliatory voice. 

Stepan brought in a saucer of milk, and set it down before Mumu, butMumu would not even sniff at the milk, and still shivered, and lookedround as before. 

"Ah, what a silly you are!" said the lady, and going up to her, shestooped down, and was about to stroke her, but Mumu turned her headabruptly, and showed her teeth. The lady hurriedly drew back herhand. . . . 

A momentary silence followed. Mumu gave a faint whine, as though shewould complain and apologize. . . . The old lady moved back, scowling. The dog's sudden movement had frightened her. 

"Ah!" shrieked all the companions at once, "she's not bitten you, hasshe? Heaven forbid! (Mumu had never bitten any one in her life. ) Ah!ah!"

"Take her away, " said the old lady in a changed voice. "Wretched littledog! What a spiteful creature!"

And, turning round deliberately, she went towards her boudoir. Hercompanions looked timidly at one another, and were about to follow her, but she stopped, stared coldly at them, and said, "What's that for, pray? I've not called you, " and went out. 

The companions waved their hands to Stepan in despair. He picked upMumu, and flung her promptly outside the door, just at Gerasim's feet, and half an hour later a profound stillness led in the house, and theold lady sat on her sofa looking blacker than a thundercloud. 

What trifles, if you think of it, will sometimes disturb any one!

Till evening the lady was out of humor; she did not talk to any one, didnot play cards, and passed a bad night. She fancied the eau-de-Colognethey gave her was not the same as she usually had, and that her pillowsmelt of soap, and she made the wardrobe-maid smell all the bed linen--in fact she was very upset and cross altogether. Next morning sheordered Gavrila to be summoned an hour earlier than usual. 

"Tell me, please, " she began, directly the latter, not without someinward trepidation, crossed the threshold of her boudoir, "what dog wasthat barking all night in our yard? It wouldn't let me sleep!"

"A dog, 'm . . . What dog, 'm . . . May be, the dumb man's dog, 'm, " hebrought out in a rather unsteady voice. 

"I don't know whether it was the dumb man's or whose, but it wouldn'tlet me sleep. And I wonder what we have such a lot of dogs for! I wishto know. We have a yard dog, haven't we?"

"Oh yes, 'm, we have, 'm. Wolf, 'm. "

"Well, why more? what do we want more dogs for? It's simply introducingdisorder. There's no one in control in the house--that's what it is. Andwhat does the dumb man want with a dog? Who gave him leave to keep dogsin my yard? Yesterday I went to the window, and there it was lying inthe flower-garden; it had dragged in nastiness it was gnawing, and myroses are planted there . . . "

The lady ceased. 

"Let her be gone from to-day . . . Do you hear?"

"Yes, 'm. "

"To-day. Now go. I will send for you later for the report. "

Gavrila went away. 

As he went through the drawing-room, the steward, by way of maintainingorder, moved a bell from one table to another; he stealthily blew hisduck-like nose in the hall, and went into the outer-hall. In the outer-hall, on a locker, was Stepan asleep in the attitude of a slain warriorin a battalion picture, his bare legs thrust out below the coat whichserved him for a blanket. The steward gave him a shove, and whisperedsome instructions to him, to which Stepan responded with somethingbetween a yawn and a laugh. The steward went away, and Stepan got up, put on his coat and his boots, went out and stood on the steps. Fiveminutes had not passed before Gerasim made his appearance with a hugebundle of hewn logs on his back, accompanied by the inseparable Mumu. (The lady had given orders that her bedroom and boudoir should be heatedat times even in the summer. ) Gerasim turned sideways before the door, shoved it open with his shoulder, and staggered into the house with hisload. Mumu, as usual, stayed behind to wait for him. Then Stepan, seizing his chance, suddenly pounced on her, like a kite on a chicken, held her down to the ground, gathered her up in his arms, and withouteven putting on his cap, ran out of the yard with her, got into thefirst fly he met, and galloped off to a market-place. There he soonfound a purchaser, to whom he sold her for a shilling, on condition thathe would keep her for at least a week tied up; then he returned at once. But before he got home, he got off the fly, and going right round theyard, jumped over the fence into the yard from a back street. He wasafraid to go in at the gate for fear of meeting Gerasim. 

His anxiety was unnecessary, however; Gerasim was no longer in the yard. On coming out of the house he had at once missed Mumu. He neverremembered her failing to wait for his return, and began running up anddown, looking for her, and calling her in his own way. . . . He rushed upto his garret, up to the hay-loft, ran out into the street, this way andthat. . . . She was lost! He turned to the other serfs, with the mostdespairing signs, questioned them about her, pointing to her height fromthe ground, describing her with his hands. . . . Some of them really didnot know what had become of Mumu, and merely shook their heads; others didknow, and smiled to him for all response; while the steward assumed animportant air, and began scolding the coachmen. Then Gerasim ran rightaway out of the yard. 

It was dark by the time he came back. From his worn-out look, hisunsteady walk, and his dusty clothes, it might be surmised that he hadbeen running over half Moscow. He stood still opposite the windows ofthe mistress's house, took a searching look at the steps where a groupof house-serfs were crowded together, turned away, and uttered once morehis inarticulate "Mumu. " Mumu did not answer. He went away. Every onelooked after him, but no one smiled or said a word, and the inquisitivepostilion Antipka reported next morning in the kitchen that the dumb manhad been groaning all night. 

All the next day Gerasim did not show himself, so that they were obligedto send the coachman Potap for water instead of him, at which thecoachman Potap was anything but pleased. The lady asked Gavrila if herorders had been carried out. Gavrila replied that they had. The nextmorning Gerasim came out of his garret, and went about his work. He camein to his dinner, ate it, and went out again, without a greeting to anyone. His face, which had always been lifeless, as with all deaf-mutes, seemed now to be turned to stone. After dinner he went out of the yardagain, but not for long; he came back, and went straight up to the hay-loft. Night came on, a clear moonlight night. Gerasim lay breathingheavily, and incessantly turning from side to side. Suddenly he feltsomething pull at the skirt of his coat. He started, but did not raisehis head, and even shut his eyes tighter. But again there was a pull, stronger than before; he jumped up before him, with an end of stringround her neck, was Mumu, twisting and turning. A prolonged cry ofdelight broke from his speechless breast; he caught up Mumu, and huggedher tight in his arms, she licked his nose and eyes, and beard andmoustache, all in one instant. . . . He stood a little, thought a minute, crept cautiously down from the hay-loft, looked round, and havingsatisfied himself that no one could see him, made his way successfullyto his garret. Gerasim had guessed before that his dog had not got lostby her own doing, that she must have been taken away by the mistress'sorders; the servants had explained to him by signs that his Mumu hadsnapped at her, and he determined to take his own measures. First he fedMumu with a bit of bread, fondled her, and put her to bed, then he fellto meditating, and spent the whole night long in meditating how he couldbest conceal her. At last he decided to leave her all day in the garret, and only to come in now and then to see her, and to take her out atnight. The hole in the door he stopped up effectually with his oldovercoat, and almost before it was light he was already in the yard, asthough nothing had happened, even--innocent guile!--the same expressionof melancholy on his face. It did not even occur to the poor deaf manthat Mumu would betray herself by her whining; in reality, everyone inthe house was soon aware that the dumb man's dog had come back, and waslocked up in his garret, but from sympathy with him and with her, andpartly, perhaps, from dread of him, they did not let him know that theyhad found out his secret. The steward scratched his head, and gave adespairing wave of his head, as much as to say, "Well, well, God havemercy on him! If only it doesn't come to the mistress's ears!"

But the dumb man had never shown such energy as on that day; he cleanedand scraped the whole courtyard, pulled up every single weed with hisown hand, tugged up every stake in the fence of the flower-garden, tosatisfy himself that they were strong enough, and unaided drove them inagain; in fact, he toiled and labored so that even the old lady noticedhis zeal. Twice in the course of the day Gerasim went stealthily in tosee his prisoner; when night came on, he lay down to sleep with her inthe garret, not in the hay-loft, and only at two o'clock in the night hewent out to take her a turn in the fresh air. 

After walking about the courtyard a good while with her, he was justturning back, when suddenly a rustle was heard behind the fence on theside of the back street. Mumu pricked up her ears, growled--went up tothe fence, sniffed, and gave vent to a loud shrill bark. Some drunkardhad thought fit to take refuge under the fence for the night. At thatvery time the old lady had just fallen asleep after a prolonged fit of"nervous agitation"; these fits of agitation always overtook her aftertoo hearty a supper. The sudden bark waked her up: her heart palpitated, and she felt faint. "Girls, girls!" she moaned. "Girls!" The terrifiedmaids ran into her bedroom. "Oh, oh, I am dying!" she said, flinging herarms about in her agitation. "Again, that dog, again! . . . Oh, send forthe doctor. They mean to be the death of me. . . . The dog, the dogagain! Oh!" And she let her head fall back, which always signified aswoon. They rushed for the doctor, that is, for the household physician, Hariton. This doctor, whose whole qualification consisted in wearingsoft-soled boots, knew how to feel the pulse delicately. He used tosleep fourteen hours out of the twenty-four, but the rest of the time hewas always sighing, and continually dosing the old lady with cherrybaydrops. This doctor ran up at once, fumigated the room with burntfeathers, and when the old lady opened her eyes, promptly offered her awineglass of the hallowed drops on a silver tray. The old lady tookthem, but began again at once in a tearful voice complaining of the dog, of Gavrila, and of her fate, declaring that she was a poor old woman, and that every one had forsaken her, no one pitied her, every one wishedher dead. Meanwhile the luckless Mumu had gone on barking, while Gerasimtried in vain to call her away, from the fence. "There . . . There . . . Again, " groaned the old lady, and once more she turned up the whites ofher eyes. The doctor whispered to a maid, she rushed into the outerhall, and shook Stepan, he ran to wake Gavrila, Gavrila in a furyordered the whole household to get up. 

Gerasim turned round, saw lights and shadows moving in the windows, andwith an instinct of coming trouble in his heart, put Mumu under his arm, ran into his garret, and locked himself in. A few minutes later five menwere banging at his door, but feeling the resistance of the bolt, theystopped. Gavrila ran up in a fearful state of mind, and ordered them allto wait there and watch till morning. Then he flew off himself to themaids' quarter, and through an old companion, Liubov Liubimovna, withwhose assistance he used to steal tea, sugar, and other groceries and tofalsify the accounts, sent word to the mistress that the dog hadunhappily run back from somewhere, but that to-morrow she should bekilled, and would the mistress be so gracious as not to be angry and tooverlook it. The old lady would probably not have been so soon appeased, but the doctor had in his haste given her fully forty drops instead oftwelve. The strong dose of narcotic acted; in a quarter of an hour theold lady was in a sound and peaceful sleep; while Gerasim was lying witha white face on his bed, holding Mumu's mouth tightly shut. 

Next morning the lady woke up rather late. Gavrila was waiting till sheshould be awake, to give the order for a final assault on Gerasim'sstronghold, while he prepared himself to face a fearful storm. But thestorm did not come off. The old lady lay in bed and sent for the eldestof her dependent companions. 

"Liubov Liubimovna, " she began in a subdued weak voice--she was fond ofplaying the part of an oppressed and forsaken victim; needless to say, every one in the house was made extremely uncomfortable at such times--"Liubov Liubimovna, you see my position; go, my love, to GavrilaAndreitch, and talk to him a little. Can he really prize some wretchedcur above the repose--the very life--of his mistress? I could not bearto think so, " she added, with an expression of deep feeling. "Go, mylove; be so good as to go to Gavrila Andreitch for me. "

Liubov Liubimovna went to Gavrila's room. What conversation passedbetween them is not known, but a short time after, a whole crowd ofpeople was moving across the yard in the direction of Gerasim's garret. Gavrila walked in front, holding his cap on with his hand, though therewas no wind. The footmen and cooks were close behind him; Uncle Tail waslooking out of a window, giving instructions, that is to say, simplywaving his hands. At the rear there was a crowd of small boys skippingand hopping along; half of them were outsiders who had run up. On thenarrow staircase leading to the garret sat one guard; at the door werestanding two more with sticks. They began to mount the stairs, whichthey entirely blocked up. Gavrila went up to the door, knocked with hisfist, shouting, "Open the door!"

A stifled bark was audible, but there was no answer. 

"Open the door, I tell you, " he repeated. 

"But, Gavrila Andreitch, " Stepan observed from below, "he's deaf, youknow--he doesn't hear. "

They all laughed. 

"What are we to do?" Gavrila rejoined from above. 

"Why, there's a hole there in the door, " answered Stepan, "so you shakethe stick in there. "

Gavrila bent down. 

"He's stuffed it up with a coat or something. "

"Well, you just push the coat in. "

At this moment a smothered bark was heard again. 

"See, see--she speaks for herself, " was remarked in the crowd, and againthey laughed. 

Gavrila scratched his ear. 

"No, mate, " he responded at last, "you can poke the coat in yourself, ifyou like. "

"All right, let me. "

And Stepan scrambled up, took the stick, pushed in the coat, and beganwaving the stick about in the opening, saying, "Come out, come out!" ashe did so. He was still waving the stick, when suddenly the door of thegarret was flung open; all the crowd flew pell-mell down the stairsinstantly, Gavrila first of all. Uncle Tail locked the window. 

"Come, come, come, " shouted Gavrila from the yard, "mind what you'reabout. "

Gerasim stood without stirring in his doorway. The crowd gathered at thefoot of the stairs. Gerasim, with his arms akimbo, looked down at allthese poor creatures in German coats; in his red peasant's shirt helooked like a giant before them. Gavrila took a step forward. 

"Mind, mate, " said he, "don't be insolent. "

And he began to explain to him by signs that the mistress insists onhaving his dog; that he must hand it over at once, or it would be theworse for him. 

Gerasim looked at him, pointed to the dog, made a motion with his handround his neck, as though he were pulling a noose tight, and glancedwith a face of inquiry at the steward. 

"Yes, yes, " the latter assented, nodding; "yes, just so. "

Gerasim dropped his eyes, then all of a sudden roused himself andpointed to Mumu, who was all the while standing beside him, innocentlywagging her tail and pricking up her ears inquisitively. Then herepeated the strangling action round his neck and significantly struckhimself on the breast, as though announcing he would take upon himselfthe task of killing Mumu. 

"But you'll deceive us, " Gavrila waved back in response. 

Gerasim looked at him, smiled scornfully, struck himself again on thebreast, and slammed to the door. 

They all looked at one another in silence. 

"What does that mean?" Gavrila began. "He's locked himself in. "

"Let him be, Gavrila Andreitch, " Stepan advised; "he'll do it if he'spromised. He's like that, you know. . . . If he makes a promise, it's acertain thing. He's not like us others in that. The truth's the truthwith him. Yes, indeed. "

"Yes, " they all repeated, nodding their heads, "yes--that's so--yes. "

Uncle Tail opened his window, and he too said, "Yes. "

"Well, may be, we shall see, " responded Gavrila; "any way, we won't takeoff the guard. Here you, Eroshka!" he added, addressing a poor fellow ina yellow nankeen coat, who considered himself to be a gardener, "whathave you to do? Take a stick and sit here, and if anything happens, runto me at once!"

Eroshka took a stick, and sat down on the bottom stair. The crowddispersed, all except a few inquisitive small boys, while Gavrila wenthome and sent word through Liubov Liubimovna to the mistress thateverything had been done, while he sent a postilion for a policeman incase of need. The old lady tied a knot in her handkerchief, sprinkledsome eau-de-Cologne on it, sniffed at it, and rubbed her temples withit, drank some tea, and, being still under the influence of thecherrybay drops, fell asleep again. 

An hour after all this hubbub the garret door opened, and Gerasim showedhimself. He had on his best coat; he was leading Mumu by a string. Eroshka moved aside and let him pass. Gerasim went to the gates. All thesmall boys in the yard stared at him in silence. He did not even turnround; he only put his cap on in the street. Gavrila sent the sameEroshka to follow him and keep watch on him as a spy. Eroshka, seeingfrom a distance that he had gone into a cookshop with his dog, waitedfor him to come out again. 

Gerasim was well known at the cookshop, and his signs were understood. He asked for cabbage soup with meat in it, and sat down with his arms onthe table. Mumu stood beside his chair, looking calmly at him with herintelligent eyes. Her coat was glossy; one could see she had just beencombed down. They brought Gerasim the soup. He crumbled some bread intoit, cut the meat up small, and put the plate on the ground. Mumu beganeating in her usual refined way, her little muzzle daintily held so asscarcely to touch her food. Gerasim gazed a long while at her; two bigtears suddenly rolled from his eyes; one fell on the dog's brow, theother into the soup. He shaded his face with his hand. Mumu ate up halfthe plateful, and came away from it, licking her lips. Gerasim got up, paid for the soup, and went out, followed by the rather perplexedglances of the waiter. Eroshka, seeing Gerasim, hid round a corner, andletting him get in front, followed him again. 

Gerasim walked without haste, still holding Mumu by a string. When hegot to the corner of the street, he stood still as though reflecting, and suddenly set off with rapid steps to the Crimean Ford. On the way hewent into the yard of a house, where a lodge was being built, andcarried away two bricks under his arm. At the Crimean Ford, he turnedalong the bank, went to a place where there were two little rowing-boatsfastened to stakes (he had noticed them there before), and jumped intoone of them with Mumu. A lame old man came out of a shed in the cornerof a kitchen-garden and shouted after him; but Gerasim only nodded, andbegan rowing so vigorously, though against stream, that in an instant hehad darted two hundred yards way. The old man stood for a while, scratched his back first with the left and then with the right hand, andwent back hobbling to the shed. 

Gerasim rowed on and on. Moscow was soon left behind. Meadows stretchedeach side of the bank, market gardens, fields, and copses; peasants'huts began to make their appearance. There was the fragrance of thecountry. He threw down his oars, bent his head down to Mumu, who wassitting facing him on a dry cross seat--the bottom of the boat was fullof water--and stayed motionless, his mighty hands clasped upon her back, while the boat was gradually carried back by the current towards thetown. At last Gerasim drew himself up hurriedly, with a sort of sickanger in his face, he tied up the bricks he had taken with string, madea running noose, put it round Mumu's neck, lifted her up over the river, and for the last time looked at her. . . . She watched him confidingly andwithout any fear, faintly wagging her tail. He turned away, frowned, andwrung his hands. . . . Gerasim heard nothing, neither the quick shrillwhine of Mumu as she fell, nor the heavy splash of the water; for himthe noisiest day was soundless and silent as even the stillest night isnot silent to us. When he opened his eyes again, little wavelets werehurrying over the river, chasing one another; as before they brokeagainst the boat's side, and only far away behind wide circles movedwidening to the bank. 

Directly Gerasim had vanished from Eroshka's sight, the latter returnedhome and reported what he had seen. 

"Well, then, " observed Stepan, "he'll drown her. Now we can feel easyabout it. If he once promises a thing . . . "

No one saw Gerasim during the day. He did not have dinner at home. Evening came on; they were all gathered together to supper, except him. 

"What a strange creature that Gerasim is!" piped a fat laundrymaid;"fancy, upsetting himself like that over a dog. . . . Upon my word!"

"But Gerasim has been here, " Stepan cried all at once, scraping up hisporridge with a spoon. 

"How? when?"

"Why, a couple of hours ago. Yes, indeed! I ran against him at the gate;he was going out again from here; he was coming out of the yard. I triedto ask him about his dog, but he wasn't in the best of humors, I couldsee. Well, he gave me a shove; I suppose he only meant to put me out ofhis way, as if he'd say, 'Let me go, do!' but he fetched me such a crackon my neck, so seriously, that--oh! oh!" And Stepan, who could not helplaughing, shrugged up and rubbed the back of his head. "Yes, " he added;"he has got a fist; it's something like a fist, there's no denyingthat!"

They all laughed at Stepan, and after supper they separated to go tobed. 

Meanwhile, at that very time, a gigantic figure with a bag on hisshoulders and a stick in his hand, was eagerly and persistently steppingout along the T--- high-road. It was Gerasim. He was hurrying on withoutlooking round; hurrying homewards, to his own village, to his own country. After drowning poor Mumu, he had run back to his garret, hurriedly packeda few things together in an old horsecloth, tied it up in a bundle, tossed it on his shoulder, and so was ready. He had noticed the roadcarefully when he was brought to Moscow; the village his mistress hadtaken him from lay only about twenty miles off the high-road. He walkedalong it with a sort of invincible purpose, a desperate and at the sametime joyous determination. He walked, his shoulders thrown back and hischest expanded; his eyes were fixed greedily straight before him. Hehastened as though his old mother were waiting for him at home, as thoughshe were calling him to her after long wanderings in strange parts, among strangers. The summer night, that was just drawing in, was stilland warm; on one side, where the sun had set, the horizon was still lightand faintly flushed with the last glow of the vanished day; on the otherside a blue-gray twilight had already risen up. The night was coming upfrom that quarter. Quails were in hundreds around; corncrakes werecalling to one another in the thickets. . . . Gerasim could not hear them;he could not hear the delicate night-whispering of the trees, by which hisstrong legs carried him, but he smelt the familiar scent of the ripeningrye, which was wafted from the dark fields; he felt the wind, flying tomeet him--the wind from home--beat caressingly upon his face, and playwith his hair and his beard. He saw before him the whitening roadhomewards, straight as an arrow. He saw in the sky stars innumerable, lighting up his way, and stepped out, strong and bold as a lion, so thatwhen the rising sun shed its moist rosy light upon the still fresh andunwearied traveller, already thirty miles lay between him and Moscow. 

In a couple of days he was at home, in his little hut, to the greatastonishment of the soldier's wife who had been put in there. Afterpraying before the holy pictures, he set off at once to the villageelder. The village elder was at first surprised; but the hay-cutting hadjust begun; Gerasim was a first-rate mower, and they put a scythe intohis hand on the spot, and he went to mow in his old way, mowing so thatthe peasants were fairly astounded as they watched his wide sweepingstrokes and the heaps he raked together. . . . 

In Moscow the day after Gerasim's flight they missed him. They went tohis garret, rummaged about in it, and spoke to Gavrila. He came, looked, shrugged his shoulders, and decided that the dumb man had either runaway or had drowned himself with his stupid dog. They gave informationto the police, and informed the lady. The old lady was furious, burstinto tears, gave orders that he was to be found whatever happened, declared she had never ordered the dog to be destroyed, and, in fact, gave Gavrila such a rating that he could do nothing all day but shakehis head and murmur, "Well!" until Uncle Tail checked him at last, sympathetically echoing "We-ell!" At last the news came from the countryof Gerasim's being there. The old lady was somewhat pacified; at firstshe issued a mandate for him to be brought back without delay to Moscow;afterwards, however, she declared that such an ungrateful creature wasabsolutely of no use to her. Soon after this she died herself; and herheirs had no thought to spare for Gerasim; they let their mother's otherservants redeem their freedom on payment of an annual rent. 

And Gerasim is living still, a lonely man in his lonely hut; he isstrong and healthy as before, and does the work of four men as before, and as before is serious and steady. But his neighbors have observedthat ever since his return from Moscow he has quite given up the societyof women; he will not even look at them, and does not keep even a singledog. 

"It's his good luck, though, " the peasants reason, "that he can get onwithout female folk; and as for a dog--what need has he of a dog? youwouldn't get a thief to go into his yard for any money!" Such is thefame of the dumb man's Titanic strength. 

THE SHOT

BY

ALEXANDER POUSHKIN

From "Poushkin's Prose Tales. " Translated by T. Keane. 

CHAPTER I. 

We were stationed in the little town of N--. The life of an officer inthe army is well known. In the morning, drill and the riding-school;dinner with the Colonel or at a Jewish restaurant; in the evening, punchand cards. In N--- there was not one open house, not a singlemarriageable girl. We used to meet in each other's rooms, where, exceptour uniforms, we never saw anything. 

One civilian only was admitted into our society. He was about thirty-five years of age, and therefore we looked upon him as an old fellow. His experience gave him great advantage over us, and his habitualtaciturnity, stern disposition, and caustic tongue produced a deepimpression upon our young minds. Some mystery surrounded his existence;he had the appearance of a Russian, although his name was a foreign one. He had formerly served in the Hussars, and with distinction. Nobody knewthe cause that had induced him to retire from the service and settle ina wretched little village, where he lived poorly and, at the same time, extravagantly. He always went on foot, and constantly wore a shabbyblack overcoat, but the officers of our regiment were ever welcome athis table. His dinners, it is true, never consisted of more than two orthree dishes, prepared by a retired soldier, but the champagne flowedlike water. Nobody knew what his circumstances were, or what his incomewas, and nobody dared to question him about them. He had a collection ofbooks, consisting chiefly of works on military matters and a few novels. He willingly lent them to us to read, and never asked for them back; onthe other hand, he never returned to the owner the books that were lentto him. His principal amusement was shooting with a pistol. The walls ofhis room were riddled with bullets, and were as full of holes as ahoneycomb. A rich collection of pistols was the only luxury in thehumble cottage where he lived. The skill which he had acquired with hisfavorite weapon was simply incredible: and if he had offered to shoot apear off somebody's forage-cap, not a man in our regiment would havehesitated to place the object upon his head. 

Our conversation often turned upon duels. Silvio--so I will call him--never joined in it. When asked if he had ever fought, he dryly repliedthat he had; but he entered into no particulars, and it was evident thatsuch questions were not to his liking. We came to the conclusion that hehad upon his conscience the memory of some unhappy victim of histerrible skill. Moreover, it never entered into the head of any of us tosuspect him of anything like cowardice. There are persons whose merelook is sufficient to repel such a suspicion. But an unexpected incidentoccurred which astounded us all. 

One day, about ten of our officers dined with Silvio. They drank asusual, that is to say, a great deal. After dinner we asked our host tohold the bank for a game at faro. For a long time he refused, for hehardly ever played, but at last he ordered cards to be brought, placedhalf a hundred ducats upon the table, and sat down to deal. We took ourplaces round him, and the play began. It was Silvio's custom to preservea complete silence when playing. He never disputed, and never enteredinto explanations. If the punter made a mistake in calculating, heimmediately paid him the difference or noted down the surplus. We wereacquainted with this habit of his, and we always allowed him to have hisown way; but among us on this occasion was an officer who had onlyrecently been transferred to our regiment. During the course of thegame, this officer absently scored one point too many. Silvio took thechalk and noted down the correct account according to his usual custom. The officer, thinking that he had made a mistake, began to enter intoexplanations. Silvio continued dealing in silence. The officer, losingpatience, took the brush and rubbed out what he considered was wrong. Silvio took the chalk and corrected the score again. The officer, heatedwith wine, play, and the laughter of his comrades, considered himselfgrossly insulted, and in his rage he seized a brass candlestick from thetable, and hurled it at Silvio, who barely succeeded in avoiding themissile. We were filled with consternation. Silvio rose, white withrage, and with gleaming eyes, said:

"My dear sir, have the goodness to withdraw, and thank God that this hashappened in my house. "

None of us entertained the slightest doubt as to what the result wouldbe, and we already looked upon our new comrade as a dead man. Theofficer withdrew, saying that he was ready to answer for his offence inwhatever way the banker liked. The play went on for a few minuteslonger, but feeling that our host was no longer interested in the game, we withdrew one after the other, and repaired to our respectivequarters, after having exchanged a few words upon the probability ofthere soon being a vacancy in the regiment. 

The next day, at the riding-school, we were already asking each other ifthe poor lieutenant was still alive, when he himself appeared among us. We put the same question to him, and he replied that he had not yetheard from Silvio. This astonished us. We went to Silvio's house andfound him in the courtyard shooting bullet after bullet into an acepasted upon the gate. He received us as usual, but did not utter a wordabout the event of the previous evening. Three days passed, and thelieutenant was still alive. We asked each other in astonishment: "Can itbe possible that Silvio is not going to fight?"

Silvio did not fight. He was satisfied with a very lame explanation, andbecame reconciled to his assailant. 

This lowered him very much in the opinion of all our young fellows. Wantof courage is the last thing to be pardoned by young men, who usuallylook upon bravery as the chief of all human virtues, and the excuse forevery possible fault. But, by degrees, everything became forgotten, andSilvio regained his former influence. 

I alone could not approach him on the old footing. Being endowed bynature with a romantic imagination, I had become attached more than allthe others to the man whose life was an enigma, and who seemed to me thehero of some mysterious drama. He was fond of me; at least, with mealone did he drop his customary sarcastic tone, and converse ondifferent subjects in a simple and unusually agreeable manner. But afterthis unlucky evening, the thought that his honor had been tarnished, andthat the stain had been allowed to remain upon it in accordance with hisown wish, was ever present in my mind, and prevented me treating him asbefore. I was ashamed to look at him. Silvio was too intelligent andexperienced not to observe this and guess the cause of it. This seemedto vex him; at least I observed once or twice a desire on his part toenter into an explanation with me, but I avoided such opportunities, andSilvio gave up the attempt. From that time forward I saw him only in thepresence of my comrades, and our confidential conversations came to anend. 

The inhabitants of the capital, with minds occupied by so many mattersof business and pleasure, have no idea of the many sensations sofamiliar to the inhabitants of villages and small towns, as, forinstance, the awaiting the arrival of the post. On Tuesdays and Fridaysour regimental bureau used to be filled with officers: some expectingmoney, some letters, and others newspapers. The packets were usuallyopened on the spot, items of news were communicated from one to another, and the bureau used to present a very animated picture. Silvio used tohave his letters addressed to our regiment, and he was generally thereto receive them. 

One day he received a letter, the seal of which he broke with a look ofgreat impatience. As he read the contents, his eyes sparkled. Theofficers, each occupied with his own letters, did not observe anything. 

"Gentlemen, " said Silvio, "circumstances demand my immediate departure;I leave to-night. I hope that you will not refuse to dine with me forthe last time. I shall expect you, too, " he added, turning towards me. "I shall expect you without fail. "

With these words he hastily departed, and we, after agreeing to meet atSilvio's, dispersed to our various quarters. 

I arrived at Silvio's house at the appointed time, and found nearly thewhole regiment there. All his things were already packed; nothingremained but the bare, bullet-riddled walls. We sat down to table. Ourhost was in an excellent humor, and his gayety was quickly communicatedto the rest. Corks popped every moment, glasses foamed incessantly, and, with the utmost warmth, we wished our departing friend a pleasantjourney and every happiness. When we rose from the table it was alreadylate in the evening. After having wished everybody good-bye, Silvio tookme by the hand and detained me just at the moment when I was preparingto depart. 

"I want to speak to you, " he said in a low voice. 

I stopped behind. 

The guests had departed, and we two were left alone. Sitting downopposite each other, we silently lit our pipes. Silvio seemed greatlytroubled; not a trace remained of his former convulsive gayety. Theintense pallor of his face, his sparkling eyes, and the thick smokeissuing from his mouth, gave him a truly diabolical appearance. Severalminutes elapsed, and then Silvio broke the silence. 

"Perhaps we shall never see each other again, " said he; "before we part, I should like to have an explanation with you. You may have observedthat I care very little for the opinion of other people, but I like you, and I feel that it would be painful to me to leave you with a wrongimpression upon your mind. "

He paused, and began to knock the ashes out of his pipe. I sat gazingsilently at the ground. 

"You thought it strange, " he continued, "that I did not demandsatisfaction from that drunken idiot R---. You will admit, however, thathaving the choice of weapons, his life was in my hands, while my own wasin no great danger. I could ascribe my forbearance to generosity alone, but I will not tell a lie. If I could have chastised R--- without theleast risk to my own life, I should never have pardoned him. "

I looked at Silvio with astonishment. Such a confession completelyastounded me. Silvio continued:

"Exactly so: I have no right to expose myself to death. Six years ago Ireceived a slap in the face, and my enemy still lives. "

My curiosity was greatly excited. 

"Did you not fight with him?" I asked. "Circumstances probably separatedyou. "

"I did fight with him, " replied Silvio; "and here is a souvenir of ourduel. "

Silvio rose and took from a cardboard box a red cap with a gold tasseland embroidery (what the French call a bonnet de police); he put it on--a bullet had passed through it about an inch above the forehead. 

"You know, " continued Silvio, "that I served in one of the Hussarregiments. My character is well known to you: I am accustomed to takingthe lead. From my youth this has been my passion. In our timedissoluteness was the fashion, and I was the most outrageous man in thearmy. We used to boast of our drunkenness; I beat in a drinking bout thefamous Bourtsoff [Footnote: A cavalry officer, notorious for his drunkenescapades], of whom Denis Davidoff [Footnote: A military poet whoflourished in the reign of Alexander I] has sung. Duels in our regimentwere constantly taking place, and in all of them I was either second orprincipal. My comrades adored me, while the regimental commanders, whowere constantly being changed, looked upon me as a necessary evil. 

"I was calmly enjoying my reputation, when a young man belonging to awealthy and distinguished family--I will not mention his name--joinedour regiment. Never in my life have I met with such a fortunate fellow!Imagine to yourself youth, wit, beauty, unbounded gayety, the mostreckless bravery, a famous name, untold wealth--imagine all these, andyou can form some idea of the effect that he would be sure to produceamong us. My supremacy was shaken. Dazzled by my reputation, he began toseek my friendship, but I received him coldly, and without the leastregret he held aloof from me. I took a hatred to him. His success in theregiment and in the society of ladies brought me to the verge ofdespair. I began to seek a quarrel with him; to my epigrams he repliedwith epigrams which always seemed to me more spontaneous and morecutting than mine, and which were decidedly more amusing, for he jokedwhile I fumed. At last, at a ball given by a Polish landed proprietor, seeing him the object of the attention of all the ladies, and especiallyof the mistress of the house, with whom I was upon very good terms, Iwhispered some grossly insulting remark in his ear. He flamed up andgave me a slap in the face. We grasped our swords; the ladies fainted;we were separated; and that same night we set out to fight. 

"The dawn was just breaking. I was standing at the appointed place withmy three seconds. With inexplicable impatience I awaited my opponent. The spring sun rose, and it was already growing hot. I saw him coming inthe distance. He was walking on foot, accompanied by one second. Weadvanced to meet him. He approached, holding his cap filled with blackcherries. The seconds measured twelve paces for us. I had to fire first, but my agitation was so great, that I could not depend upon thesteadiness of my hand; and in order to give myself time to become calm, I ceded to him the first shot. My adversary would not agree to this. Itwas decided that we should cast lots. The first number fell to him, theconstant favorite of fortune. He took aim, and his bullet went throughmy cap. It was now my turn. His life at last was in my hands; I lookedat him eagerly, endeavoring to detect if only the faintest shadow ofuneasiness. But he stood in front of my pistol, picking out the ripestcherries from his cap and spitting out the stones, which flew almost asfar as my feet. His indifference annoyed me beyond measure. 'What is theuse, ' thought I, 'of depriving him of life, when he attaches no valuewhatever to it?' A malicious thought flashed through my mind. I loweredmy pistol. 

"'You don't seem to be ready for death just at present, ' I said to him:'you wish to have your breakfast; I do not wish to hinder you. '

"'You are not hindering me in the least, ' replied he. 'Have the goodnessto fire, or just as you please--the shot remains yours; I shall alwaysbe ready at your service. '

"I turned to the seconds, informing them that I had no intention offiring that day, and with that the duel came to an end. 

"I resigned my commission and retired to this little place. Since thennot a day has passed that I have not thought of revenge. And now my hourhas arrived. "

Silvio took from his pocket the letter that he had received thatmorning, and gave it to me to read. Some one (it seemed to be hisbusiness agent) wrote to him from Moscow, that a CERTAIN PERSON wasgoing to be married to a young and beautiful girl. 

"You can guess, " said Silvio, "who the certain person is. I am going toMoscow. We shall see if he will look death in the face with as muchindifference now, when he is on the eve of being married, as he did oncewith his cherries!"

With these words, Silvio rose, threw his cap upon the floor, and beganpacing up and down the room like a tiger in his cage. I had listened tohim in silence; strange conflicting feelings agitated me. 

The servant entered and announced that the horses were ready. Silviograsped my hand tightly, and we embraced each other. He seated himselfin his telega, in which lay two trunks, one containing his pistols, theother his effects. We said good-bye once more, and the horses gallopedoff. 

CHAPTER II. 

Several years passed, and family circumstances compelled me to settle inthe poor little village of M---. Occupied with agricultural pursuits, Iceased not to sigh in secret for my former noisy and careless life. Themost difficult thing of all was having to accustom myself to passing thespring and winter evenings in perfect solitude. Until the hour fordinner I managed to pass away the time somehow or other, talking withthe bailiff, riding about to inspect the work, or going round to look atthe new buildings; but as soon as it began to get dark, I positively didnot know what to do with myself. The few books that I had found in thecupboards and storerooms I already knew by heart. All the stories thatmy housekeeper Kirilovna could remember I had heard over and over again. The songs of the peasant women made me feel depressed. I tried drinkingspirits, but it made my head ache; and moreover, I confess I was afraidof becoming a drunkard from mere chagrin, that is to say, the saddestkind of drunkard, of which I had seen many examples in our district. 

I had no near neighbors, except two or three topers, whose conversationconsisted for the most part of hiccups and sighs. Solitude waspreferable to their society. At last I decided to go to bed as early aspossible, and to dine as late as possible; in this way I shortened theevening and lengthened out the day, and I found that the plan answeredvery well. 

Four versts from my house was a rich estate belonging to the CountessB---; but nobody lived there except the steward. The Countess had onlyvisited her estate once, in the first year of her married life, and thenshe had remained there no longer than a month. But in the second springof my hermitical life a report was circulated that the Countess, withher husband, was coming to spend the summer on her estate. The reportturned out to be true, for they arrived at the beginning of June. 

The arrival of a rich neighbor is an important event in the lives ofcountry people. The landed proprietors and the people of theirhouseholds talk about it for two months beforehand and for three yearsafterwards. As for me, I must confess that the news of the arrival of ayoung and beautiful neighbor affected me strongly. I burned withimpatience to see her, and the first Sunday after her arrival I set outafter dinner for the village of A---, to pay my respects to the Countessand her husband, as their nearest neighbor and most humble servant. Alackey conducted me into the Count's study, and then went to announceme. The spacious apartment was furnished with every possible luxury. Around the walls were cases filled with books and surmounted by bronzebusts; over the marble mantelpiece was a large mirror; on the floor wasa green cloth covered with carpets. Unaccustomed to luxury in my ownpoor corner, and not having seen the wealth of other people for a longtime, I awaited the appearance of the Count with some littletrepidation, as a suppliant from the provinces awaits the arrival of theminister. The door opened, and a handsome-looking man, of about thirty-two years of age, entered the room. The Count approached me with a frankand friendly air; I endeavored to be self-possessed and began tointroduce myself, but he anticipated me. We sat down. His conversation, which was easy and agreeable, soon dissipated my awkward bashfulness;and I was already beginning to recover my usual composure, when theCountess suddenly entered, and I became more confused than ever. She wasindeed beautiful. The Count presented me. I wished to appear at ease, but the more I tried to assume an air of unconstraint, the more awkwardI felt. They, in order to give me time to recover myself and to becomeaccustomed to my new acquaintances, began to talk to each other, treating me as a good neighbor, and without ceremony. Meanwhile, Iwalked about the room, examining the books and pictures. I am no judgeof pictures, but one of them attracted my attention. It represented someview in Switzerland, but it was not the painting that struck me, but thecircumstance that the canvas was shot through by two bullets, oneplanted just above the other. 

"A good shot that!" said I, turning to the Count. 

"Yes, " replied he, "a very remarkable shot. . . . Do you shoot well?" hecontinued. 

"Tolerably, " replied I, rejoicing that the conversation had turned atlast upon a subject that was familiar to me. "At thirty paces I canmanage to hit a card without fail, --I mean, of course, with a pistolthat I am used to. "

"Really?" said the Countess, with a look of the greatest interest. "Andyou, my dear, could you hit a card at thirty paces?"

"Some day, " replied the Count, "we will try. In my time I did not shootbadly, but it is now four years since I touched a pistol. "

"Oh!" I observed, "in that case, I don't mind laying a wager that YourExcellency will not hit the card at twenty paces; the pistol demandspractice every day. I know that from experience. In our regiment I wasreckoned one of the best shots. It once happened that I did not touch apistol for a whole month, as I had sent mine to be mended; and would youbelieve it, Your Excellency, the first time I began to shoot again, Imissed a bottle four times in succession at twenty paces. Our captain, awitty and amusing fellow, happened to be standing by, and he said to me:'It is evident, my friend, that your hand will not lift itself againstthe bottle. ' No, Your Excellency, you must not neglect to practise, oryour hand will soon lose its cunning. The best shot that I ever met usedto shoot at least three times every day before dinner. It was as muchhis custom to do this as it was to drink his daily glass of brandy. "

The Count and Countess seemed pleased that I had begun to talk. 

"And what sort of a shot was he?" asked the Count. 

"Well, it was this way with him, Your Excellency: if he saw a fly settleon the wall--you smile, Countess, but, before Heaven, it is the truth--if he saw a fly, he would call out: 'Kouzka, my pistol!' Kouzka wouldbring him a loaded pistol--bang! and the fly would be crushed againstthe wall. "

"Wonderful!" said the Count. "And what was his name?"

"Silvio, Your Excellency. "

"Silvio!" exclaimed the Count, starting up. "Did you know Silvio?"

"How could I help knowing him, Your Excellency: we were intimatefriends; he was received in our regiment like a brother officer, but itis now five years since I had any tidings of him. Then Your Excellencyalso knew him?"

"Oh, yes, I knew him very well. Did he ever tell you of one very strangeincident in his life?"

"Does Your Excellency refer to the slap in the face that he receivedfrom some blackguard at a ball?"

"Did he tell you the name of this blackguard?"

"No, Your Excellency, he never mentioned his name, . . . Ah! YourExcellency!" I continued, guessing the truth: "pardon me . . . I did notknow . . . Could it really have been you?"

"Yes, I myself, " replied the Count, with a look of extraordinaryagitation; "and that bullet-pierced picture is a memento of our lastmeeting. "

"Ah, my dear, " said the Countess, "for Heaven's sake, do not speak aboutthat; it would be too terrible for me to listen to. "

"No, " replied the Count: "I will relate everything. He knows how Iinsulted his friend, and it is only right that he should know how Silviorevenged himself. "

The Count pushed a chair towards me, and with the liveliest interest Ilistened to the following story:

"Five years ago I got married. The first month--the honeymoon--I spenthere, in this village. To this house I am indebted for the happiestmoments of my life, as well as for one of its most painful recollections. 

"One evening we went out together for a ride on horseback. My wife'shorse became restive; she grew frightened, gave the reins to me, andreturned home on foot. I rode on before. In the courtyard I saw atravelling carriage, and I was told that in my study sat waiting for mea man, who would not give his name, but who merely said that he hadbusiness with me. I entered the room and saw in the darkness a man, covered with dust and wearing a beard of several days' growth. He wasstanding there, near the fireplace. I approached him, trying to rememberhis features. 

"'You do not recognize me, Count?' said he, in a quivering voice. 

"'Silvio!' I cried, and I confess that I felt as if my hair had suddenlystood on end. 

"'Exactly, ' continued he. 'There is a shot due to me, and I have come todischarge my pistol. Are you ready?'

"His pistol protruded from a side pocket. I measured twelve paces andtook my stand there in that corner, begging him to fire quickly, beforemy wife arrived. He hesitated, and asked for a light. Candles werebrought in. I closed the doors, gave orders that nobody was to enter, and again begged him to fire. He drew out his pistol and took aim. . . . I counted the seconds. . . . I thought of her. . . . A terrible minutepassed! Silvio lowered his hand. 

"'I regret, ' said he, 'that the pistol is not loaded with cherry-stones . . . The bullet is heavy. It seems to me that this is not a duel, but a murder. I am not accustomed to taking aim at unarmed men. Let usbegin all over again; we will cast lots as to who shall fire first. '

"My head went round. . . . I think I raised some objection. . . . At lastwe loaded another pistol, and rolled up two pieces of paper. He placedthese latter in his cap--the same through which I had once sent abullet--and again I drew the first number. 

"'You are devilish lucky, Count, ' said he, with a smile that I shallnever forget. 

"I don't know what was the matter with me, or how it was that he managedto make me do it . . . But I fired and hit that picture. "

The Count pointed with his finger to the perforated picture; his faceglowed like fire; the Countess was whiter than her own handkerchief; andI could not restrain an exclamation. 

"I fired, " continued the Count, "and, thank Heaven, missed my aim. ThenSilvio . . . At that moment he was really terrible . . . Silvio raised hishand to take aim at me. Suddenly the door opens, Masha rushes into theroom, and with a loud shriek throws herself upon my neck. Her presencerestored to me all my courage. 

"'My dear, ' said I to her, 'don't you see that we are joking? Howfrightened you are! Go and drink a glass of water and then come back tous; I will introduce you to an old friend and comrade. '

"Masha still doubted. 

"'Tell me, is my husband speaking the truth?' said she, turning to theterrible Silvio: 'is it true that you are only joking?'

"'He is always joking, Countess, ' replied Silvio: 'once he gave me aslap in the face in a joke; on another occasion he sent a bullet throughmy cap in a joke; and just now, when he fired at me and missed me, itwas all in a joke. And now I feel inclined for a joke. '

"With these words he raised his pistol to take aim at me--right beforeher! Masha threw herself at his feet. 

"'Rise, Masha; are you not ashamed!' I cried in a rage: 'and you, sir, will you cease to make fun of a poor woman? Will you fire or not?'

"'I will not, ' replied Silvio: 'I am satisfied. I have seen yourconfusion, your alarm. I forced you to fire at me. That is sufficient. You will remember me. I leave you to your conscience. '

"Then he turned to go, but pausing in the doorway, and looking at thepicture that my shot had passed through, he fired at it almost withouttaking aim, and disappeared. My wife had fainted away; the servants didnot venture to stop him, the mere look of him filled them with terror. He went out upon the steps, called his coachman, and drove off before Icould recover myself. "

The Count was silent. In this way I learned the end of the story, whosebeginning had once made such a deep impression upon me. The hero of it Inever saw again. It is said that Silvio commanded a detachment ofHetairists during the revolt under Alexander Ipsilanti, and that he waskilled in the battle of Skoulana. 

ST. JOHN'S EVE

BY

NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL

From "St. John's Eve. " Translated by Isabel F. Hapgood. 

1886

[Footnote: This is one of the stories from the celebrated volumeentitled "Tales at a Farmhouse near Dikanka. "]

(RELATED BY THE SACRISTAN OF THE DIKANKA CHURCH)

Thoma Grigorovitch had a very strange sort of eccentricity: to the dayof his death he never liked to tell the same thing twice. There weretimes when, if you asked him to relate a thing afresh, behold, he wouldinterpolate new matter, or alter it so that it was impossible torecognize it. Once on a time, one of those gentlemen (it is hard for ussimple people to put a name to them, to say whether they are scribblersor not scribblers: but it is just the same thing as the usurers at ouryearly fairs; they clutch and beg and steal every sort of frippery, andissue mean little volumes, no thicker than an ABC book, every month, oreven every week), --one of these gentlemen wormed this same story out ofThoma Grigorovitch, and he completely forgot about it. But that sameyoung gentleman in the pea-green caftan, whom I have mentioned, and oneof whose Tales you have already read, I think, came from Poltava, bringing with him a little book, and, opening it in the middle, shows itto us. Thoma Grigorovitch was on the point of setting his spectaclesastride of his nose, but recollected that he had forgotten to windthread about them, and stick them together with wax, so he passed itover to me. As I understand something about reading and writing, and donot wear spectacles, I undertook to read it. I had not turned twoleaves, when all at once he caught me by the hand, and stopped me. 

"Stop! tell me first what you are reading. "

I confess that I was a trifle stunned by such a question. 

"What! what am I reading, Thoma Grigorovitch? These were your verywords. "

"Who told you that they were my words?"

"Why, what more would you have? Here it is printed: RELATED BY SUCH ANDSUCH A SACRISTAN. "

"Spit on the head of the man who printed that! he lies, the dog of aMoscow pedler! Did I say that? 'TWAS JUST THE SAME AS THOUGH ONE HADN'THIS WITS ABOUT HIM. Listen. I'll tell it to you on the spot. "

We moved up to the table, and he began. 

 * * * *

My grandfather (the kingdom of heaven be his! may he eat only wheatenrolls and makovniki [FOOTNOTE: Poppy-seeds cooked in honey, and dried insquare cakes. ] with honey in the other world!) could tell a storywonderfully well. When he used to begin on a tale, you wouldn't stirfrom the spot all day, but keep on listening. He was no match for thestory-teller of the present day, when he begins to lie, with a tongue asthough he had had nothing to eat for three days, so that you snatch yourcap and flee from the house. As I now recall it, --my old mother wasalive then, --in the long winter evenings when the frost was cracklingout of doors, and had so sealed up hermetically the narrow panes of ourcottage, she used to sit before the hackling-comb, drawing out a longthread in her hand, rocking the cradle with her foot, and humming asong, which I seem to hear even now. 

The fat-lamp, quivering and flaring up as though in fear of something, lighted us within our cottage; the spindle hummed; and all of uschildren, collected in a cluster, listened to grandfather, who had notcrawled off the oven for more than five years, owing to his great age. But the wondrous tales of the incursions of the Zaporozhian Cossacks, the Poles, the bold deeds of Podkova, of Poltor-Kozhukh, andSagaidatchnii, did not interest us so much as the stories about somedeed of old which always sent a shiver through our frames, and made ourhair rise upright on our heads. Sometimes such terror took possession ofus in consequence of them, that, from that evening on, Heaven knows whata marvel everything seemed to us. If you chance to go out of the cottageafter nightfall for anything, you imagine that a visitor from the otherworld has lain down to sleep in your bed; and I should not be able totell this a second time were it not that I had often taken my own smock, at a distance, as it lay at the head of the bed, for the Evil One rolledup in a ball! But the chief thing about grandfather's stories was, thathe never had lied in all his life; and whatever he said was so, was so. 

I will now relate to you one of his marvellous tales. I know that thereare a great many wise people who copy in the courts, and can even readcivil documents, who, if you were to put into their hand a simpleprayer-book, could not make out the first letter in it, and would showall their teeth in derision--which is wisdom. These people laugh ateverything you tell them. Such incredulity has spread abroad in theworld! What then? (Why, may God and the Holy Virgin cease to love me ifit is not possible that even you will not believe me!) Once he saidsomething about witches; . . . What then? Along comes one of these head-breakers, --and doesn't believe in witches! Yes, glory to God that I havelived so long in the world! I have seen heretics, to whom it would beeasier to lie in confession than it would to our brothers and equals totake snuff, and those people would deny the existence of witches! Butlet them just dream about something, and they won't even tell what itwas! There's no use in talking about them!

 * * * *

ST. JOHN'S EVE. 

No one could have recognized this village of ours a little over ahundred years ago: a hamlet it was, the poorest kind of a hamlet. Half ascore of miserable izbas, unplastered, badly thatched, were scatteredhere and there about the fields. There was not an inclosure or decentshed to shelter animals or wagons. That was the way the wealthy lived;and if you had looked for our brothers, the poor, --why, a hole in theground, --that was a cabin for you! Only by the smoke could you tell thata God-created man lived there. You ask why they lived so? It was notentirely through poverty: almost every one led a wandering, Cossacklife, and gathered not a little plunder in foreign lands; it was ratherbecause there was no reason for setting up a well-ordered khata (woodenhouse). How many people were wandering all over the country, --Crimeans, Poles, Lithuanians! It was quite possible that their own countrymenmight make a descent, and plunder everything. Anything was possible. 

In this hamlet a man, or rather a devil in human form, often made hisappearance. Why he came, and whence, no one knew. He prowled about, gotdrunk, and suddenly disappeared as if into the air, and there was not ahint of his existence. Then, again, behold, he seemed to have droppedfrom the sky, and went flying about the streets of the village, of whichno trace now remains, and which was not more than a hundred paces fromDikanka. He would collect together all the Cossacks he met; then therewere songs, laughter, money in abundance, and vodka flowed likewater. . . . He would address the pretty girls, and give them ribbons, earrings, strings of beads, --more than they knew what to do with. It istrue that the pretty girls rather hesitated about accepting hispresents: God knows, perhaps they had passed through unclean hands. Mygrandfather's aunt, who kept a tavern at that time, in which Basavriuk(as they called that devil-man) often had his carouses, said that noconsideration on the face of the earth would have induced her to accepta gift from him. And then, again, how avoid accepting? Fear seized onevery one when he knit his bristly brows, and gave a sidelong glancewhich might send your feet, God knows whither; but if you accept, thenthe next night some fiend from the swamp, with horns on his head, comesto call, and begins to squeeze your neck, when there is a string ofbeads upon it; or bite your finger, if there is a ring upon it; or dragyou by the hair, if ribbons are braided in it. God have mercy, then, onthose who owned such gifts! But here was the difficulty: it wasimpossible to get rid of them; if you threw them into the water, thediabolical ring or necklace would skim along the surface, and into yourhand. 

There was a church in the village, --St. Pantelei, if I remember rightly. There lived there a priest, Father Athanasii of blessed memory. Observing that Basavriuk did not come to church, even on Easter, hedetermined to reprove him, and impose penance upon him. Well, he hardlyescaped with his life. "Hark ye, pannotche!" [Footnote: Sir] hethundered in reply, "learn to mind your own business instead of meddlingin other people's, if you don't want that goat's throat of yours stucktogether with boiling kutya. " [Footnote: A dish of rice or wheat flour, with honey and raisins, which is brought to the church on thecelebration of memorial masses] What was to be done with thisunrepentant man? Father Athanasii contented himself with announcing thatany one who should make the acquaintance of Basavriuk would be counted aCatholic, an enemy of Christ's church, not a member of the human race. 

In this village there was a Cossack named Korzh, who had a laborer whompeople called Peter the Orphan--perhaps because no one remembered eitherhis father or mother. The church starost, it is true, said that they haddied of the pest in his second year; but my grandfather's aunt would nothear to that, and tried with all her might to furnish him with parents, although poor Peter needed them about as much as we need last year'ssnow. She said that his father had been in Zaporozhe, taken prisoner bythe Turks, underwent God only knows what tortures, and having, by somemiracle, disguised himself as a eunuch, had made his escape. Littlecared the black-browed youths and maidens about his parents. They merelyremarked, that if he only had a new coat, a red sash, a black lambskincap, with dandified blue crown, on his head, a Turkish sabre hanging byhis side, a whip in one hand and a pipe with handsome mountings in theother, he would surpass all the young men. But the pity was, that theonly thing poor Peter had was a gray svitka with more holes in it thanthere are gold-pieces in a Jew's pocket. And that was not the worst ofit, but this: that Korzh had a daughter, such a beauty as I think youcan hardly have chanced to see. My deceased grandfather's aunt used tosay--and you know that it is easier for a woman to kiss the Evil Onethan to call anybody a beauty, without malice be it said--that thisCossack maiden's cheeks were as plump and fresh as the pinkest poppywhen just bathed in God's dew, and, glowing, it unfolds its petals, andcoquets with the rising sun; that her brows were like black cords, suchas our maidens buy nowadays, for their crosses and ducats, of the Moscowpedlers who visit the villages with their baskets, and evenly arched asthough peeping into her clear eyes; that her little mouth, at sight ofwhich the youths smacked their lips, seemed made to emit the songs ofnightingales; that her hair, black as the raven's wing, and soft asyoung flax (our maidens did not then plait their hair in clubsinterwoven with pretty, bright-hued ribbons) fell in curls over herkuntush. [Footnote: Upper garment in Little Russia. ] Eh! may I neverintone another alleluia in the choir, if I would not have kissed her, inspite of the gray which is making its way all through the old wool whichcovers my pate, and my old woman beside me, like a thorn in my side!Well, you know what happens when young men and maids live side by side. In the twilight the heels of red boots were always visible in the placewhere Pidorka chatted with her Petrus. But Korzh would never havesuspected anything out of the way, only one day--it is evident that nonebut the Evil One could have inspired him--Petrus took it into his headto kiss the Cossack maiden's rosy lips with all his heart in thepassage, without first looking well about him; and that same Evil One--may the son of a dog dream of the holy cross!--caused the old graybeard, like a fool, to open the cottage-door at that same moment. Korzh waspetrified, dropped his jaw, and clutched at the door for support. Thoseunlucky kisses had completely stunned him. It surprised him more thanthe blow of a pestle on the wall, with which, in our days, the muzhikgenerally drives out his intoxication for lack of fuses and powder. 

Recovering himself, he took his grandfather's hunting-whip from thewall, and was about to belabor Peter's back with it, when Pidorka'slittle six-year-old brother Ivas rushed up from somewhere or other, and, grasping his father's legs with his little hands, screamed out, "Daddy, daddy! don't beat Petrus!" What was to be done? A father's heart is notmade of stone. Hanging the whip again upon the wall, he led him quietlyfrom the house. "If you ever show yourself in my cottage again, or evenunder the windows, look out, Petro! by Heaven, your black moustache willdisappear; and your black locks, though wound twice about your ears, will take leave of your pate, or my name is not Terentiy Korzh. " Sosaying, he gave him a little taste of his fist in the nape of his neck, so that all grew dark before Petrus, and he flew headlong. So there wasan end of their kissing. Sorrow seized upon our doves; and a rumor wasrife in the village, that a certain Pole, all embroidered with gold, with moustaches, sabres, spurs, and pockets jingling like the bells ofthe bag with which our sacristan Taras goes through the church everyday, had begun to frequent Korzh's house. Now, it is well known why thefather is visited when there is a black-browed daughter about. So, oneday, Pidorka burst into tears, and clutched the hand of her Ivas. "Ivas, my dear! Ivas, my love! fly to Petrus, my child of gold, like an arrowfrom a bow. Tell him all: I would have loved his brown eyes, I wouldhave kissed his white face, but my fate decrees not so. More than onetowel have I wet with burning tears. I am sad, I am heavy at heart. Andmy own father is my enemy. I will not marry that Pole, whom I do notlove. Tell him they are preparing a wedding, but there will be no musicat our wedding: ecclesiastics will sing instead of pipes and kobzas. [Footnote: Eight-stringed musical instrument. ] I shall not dance with mybridegroom: they will carry me out. Dark, dark will be my dwelling, --ofmaple wood; and, instead of chimneys, a cross will stand upon the roof. "

Petro stood petrified, without moving from the spot, when the innocentchild lisped out Pidorka's words to him. "And I, unhappy man, thought togo to the Crimea and Turkey, win gold and return to thee, my beauty! Butit may not be. The evil eye has seen us. I will have a wedding, too, dear little fish, I too; but no ecclesiastics will be at that wedding. The black crow will caw, instead of the pope, over me; the smooth fieldwill be my dwelling; the dark blue clouds my roof-tree. The eagle willclaw out my brown eyes: the rain will wash the Cossack's bones, and thewhirlwinds will dry them. But what am I? Of whom, to whom, am Icomplaining? 'T is plain, God willed it so. If I am to be lost, then sobe it!" and he went straight to the tavern. 

My late grandfather's aunt was somewhat surprised on seeing Petrus inthe tavern, and at an hour when good men go to morning mass; and shestared at him as though in a dream, when he demanded a jug of brandy, about half a pailful. But the poor fellow tried in vain to drown hiswoe. The vodka stung his tongue like nettles, and tasted more bitterthan wormwood. He flung the jug from him upon the ground. "You havesorrowed enough, Cossack, " growled a bass voice behind him. He lookedround--Basavriuk! Ugh, what a face! His hair was like a brush, his eyeslike those of a bull. "I know what you lack: here it is. " Then hejingled a leather purse which hung from his girdle, and smileddiabolically. Petro shuddered. "He, he, he! yes, how it shines!" heroared, shaking out ducats into his hand: "he, he, he! and how itjingles! And I only ask one thing for a whole pile of such shiners. "--"It is the Evil One!" exclaimed Petro: "Give them here! I'm ready foranything!" They struck hands upon it. "See here, Petro, you are ripejust in time: to-morrow is St. John the Baptist's day. Only on this onenight in the year does the fern blossom. Delay not. I will await thee atmidnight in the Bear's ravine. "

I do not believe that chickens await the hour when the woman bringstheir corn with as much anxiety as Petrus awaited the evening. And, infact, he looked to see whether the shadows of the trees were notlengthening, if the sun were not turning red towards setting; and thelonger he watched, the more impatient he grew. How long it was!Evidently, God's day had lost its end somewhere. And now the sun isgone. The sky is red only on one side, and it is already growing dark. It grows colder in the fields. It gets dusky and more dusky, and at lastquite dark. At last! With heart almost bursting from his bosom, he setout on his way, and cautiously descended through the dense woods intothe deep hollow called the Bear's ravine. Basavriuk was already waitingthere. It was so dark, that you could not see a yard before you. Hand inhand they penetrated the thin marsh, clinging to the luxuriant thornbushes, and stumbling at almost every step. At last they reached an openspot. Petro looked about him: he had never chanced to come there before. Here Basavriuk halted. 

"Do you see, before you stand three hillocks? There are a great manysorts of flowers upon them. But may some power keep you from pluckingeven one of them. But as soon as the fern blossoms, seize it, and looknot round, no matter what may seem to be going on behind thee. "

Petro wanted to ask--and behold he was no longer there. He approachedthe three hillocks--where were the flowers? He saw nothing. The wildsteppe-grass darkled around, and stifled everything in its luxuriance. But the lightning flashed; and before him stood a whole bed of flowers, all wonderful, all strange: and there were also the simple fronds offern. Petro doubted his senses, and stood thoughtfully before them, withboth hands upon his sides. 

"What prodigy is this? one can see these weeds ten times in a day: whatmarvel is there about them? was not devil's-face laughing at me?"

Behold! the tiny flower-bud crimsons, and moves as though alive. It is amarvel, in truth. It moves, and grows larger and larger, and flusheslike a burning coal. The tiny star flashes up, something bursts softly, and the flower opens before his eyes like a flame, lighting the othersabout it. "Now is the time, " thought Petro, and extended his hand. Hesees hundreds of shaggy hands reach from behind him, also for theflower; and there is a running about from place to place, in the rear. He half shut his eyes, plucked sharply at the stalk, and the flowerremained in his hand. All became still. Upon a stump sat Basavriuk, allblue like a corpse. He moved not so much as a finger. His eyes wereimmovably fixed on something visible to him alone: his mouth was halfopen and speechless. All about, nothing stirred. Ugh! it was horrible!--But then a whistle was heard, which made Petro's heart grow cold withinhim; and it seemed to him that the grass whispered, and the flowersbegan to talk among themselves in delicate voices, like little silverbells; the trees rustled in waving contention;--Basavriuk's facesuddenly became full of life, and his eyes sparkled. "The witch has justreturned, " he muttered between his teeth. "See here, Petro: a beautywill stand before you in a moment; do whatever she commands; if not--youare lost for ever. " Then he parted the thorn-bush with a knotty stick, and before him stood a tiny izba, on chicken's legs, as they say. Basavriuk smote it with his fist, and the wall trembled. A large blackdog ran out to meet them, and with a whine, transforming itself into acat, flew straight at his eyes. "Don't be angry, don't be angry, you oldSatan!" said Basavriuk, employing such words as would have made a goodman stop his ears. Behold, instead of a cat, an old woman with a facewrinkled like a baked apple, and all bent into a bow: her nose and chinwere like a pair of nut-crackers. "A stunning beauty!" thought Petro;and cold chills ran down his back. The witch tore the flower from hishand, bent over, and muttered over it for a long time, sprinkling itwith some kind of water. Sparks flew from her mouth, froth appeared onher lips. 

"Throw it away, " she said, giving it back to Petro. 

Petro threw it, and what wonder was this? the flower did not fallstraight to the earth, but for a long while twinkled like a fiery ballthrough the darkness, and swam through the air like a boat: at last itbegan to sink lower and lower, and fell so far away, that the littlestar, hardly larger than a poppy-seed, was barely visible. "Here!"croaked the old woman, in a dull voice: and Basavriuk, giving him aspade, said: "Dig here, Petro: here you will see more gold than you orKorzh ever dreamed of. "

Petro spat on his hands, seized the spade, applied his foot, and turnedup the earth, a second, a third, a fourth time. . . . There was somethinghard: the spade clinked, and would go no farther. Then his eyes began todistinguish a small, iron-bound coffer. He tried to seize it; but thechest began to sink into the earth, deeper, farther, and deeper still:and behind him he heard a laugh, more like a serpent's hiss. "No, youshall not see the gold until you procure human blood, " said the witch, and led up to him a child of six, covered with a white sheet, indicatingby a sign that he was to cut off his head. Petro was stunned. A trifle, indeed, to cut off a man's, or even an innocent child's, head for noreason whatever! In wrath he tore off the sheet enveloping his head, andbehold! before him stood Ivas. And the poor child crossed his littlehands, and hung his head. . . . Petro flew upon the witch with the knifelike a madman, and was on the point of laying hands on her. . . . 

"What did you promise for the girl?" . . . Thundered Basavriuk; and like ashot he was on his back. The witch stamped her foot: a blue flameflashed from the earth; it illumined it all inside, and it was as ifmoulded of crystal; and all that was within the earth became visible, asif in the palm of the hand. Ducats, precious stones in chests andkettles, were piled in heaps beneath the very spot they stood on. Hiseyes burned, . . . His mind grew troubled. . . . He grasped the knife likea madman, and the innocent blood spurted into his eyes. Diabolicallaughter resounded on all sides. Misshaped monsters flew past him inherds. The witch, fastening her hands in the headless trunk, like a wolfdrank its blood. . . . All went round in his head. Collecting all hisstrength, he set out to run. Everything turned red before him. The treesseemed steeped in blood, and burned and groaned. The sky glowed andglowered. . . . Burning points, like lightning, flickered before his eyes. Utterly exhausted, he rushed into his miserable hovel, and fell to theground like a log. A death-like sleep overpowered him. 

Two days and two nights did Petro sleep, without once awakening. When hecame to himself, on the third day, he looked long at all the corners ofhis hut; but in vain did he endeavor to recollect; his memory was like amiser's pocket, from which you cannot entice a quarter of a kopek. Stretching himself, he heard something clash at his feet. He looked, . . . Two bags of gold. Then only, as if in a dream, he recollected that hehad been seeking some treasure, that something had frightened him in thewoods. . . . But at what price he had obtained it, and how, he could by nomeans understand. 

Korzh saw the sacks, --and was mollified. "Such a Petrus, quite unheardof! yes, and did I not love him? Was he not to me as my own son?" Andthe old fellow carried on his fiction until it reduced him to tears. Pidorka began to tell him how some passing gypsies had stolen Ivas; butPetro could not even recall him--to such a degree had the Devil'sinfluence darkened his mind! There was no reason for delay. The Pole wasdismissed, and the wedding-feast prepared; rolls were baked, towels andhandkerchiefs embroidered; the young people were seated at table; thewedding-loaf was cut; banduras, cymbals, pipes, kobzi, sounded, andpleasure was rife . . . 

A wedding in the olden times was not like one of the present day. Mygrandfather's aunt used to tell--what doings!--how the maidens--infestive head-dresses of yellow, blue, and pink ribbons, above which theybound gold braid; in thin chemisettes embroidered on all the seams withred silk, and strewn with tiny silver flowers; in morocco shoes, withhigh iron heels--danced the gorlitza as swimmingly as peacocks, and aswildly as the whirlwind; how the youths--with their ship-shaped capsupon their heads, the crowns of gold brocade, with a little slit at thenape where the hair-net peeped through, and two horns projecting, one infront and another behind, of the very finest black lambskin; inkuntushas of the finest blue silk with red borders--stepped forward oneby one, their arms akimbo in stately form, and executed the gopak; howthe lads--in tall Cossack caps, and light cloth svitkas, girt withsilver embroidered belts, their short pipes in their teeth--skippedbefore them, and talked nonsense. Even Korzh could not contain himself, as he gazed at the young people, from getting gay in his old age. Bandura in hand, alternately puffing at his pipe and singing, a brandy-glass upon his head, the gray-beard began the national dance amid loudshouts from the merry-makers. What will not people devise in merry mood!They even began to disguise their faces. They did not look like humanbeings. They are not to be compared with the disguises which we have atour weddings nowadays. What do they do now? Why, imitate gypsies andMoscow pedlers. No! then one used to dress himself as a Jew, another asthe Devil: they would begin by kissing each other, and ended by seizingeach other by the hair. . . . God be with them! you laughed till you heldyour sides. They dressed themselves in Turkish and Tartar garments. Allupon them glowed like a conflagration, . . . And then they began to jokeand play pranks. . . . Well, then away with the saints! An amusing thinghappened to my grandfather's aunt, who was at this wedding. She wasdressed in a voluminous Tartar robe, and, wine-glass in hand, wasentertaining the company. The Evil One instigated one man to pour vodkaover her from behind. Another, at the same moment, evidently not byaccident, struck a light, and touched it to her; . . . The flame flashedup; poor aunt, in terror, flung her robe from her, before them all. . . . Screams, laughter, jest, arose, as if at a fair. In a word, the oldfolks could not recall so merry a wedding. 

Pidorka and Petrus began to live like a gentleman and lady. There wasplenty of everything, and everything was handsome. . . . But honest peopleshook their heads when they looked at their way of living. "From theDevil no good can come, " they unanimously agreed. "Whence, except fromthe tempter of orthodox people, came this wealth? Where else could heget such a lot of gold? Why, on the very day that he got rich, didBasavriuk vanish as if into thin air?" Say, if you can, that peopleimagine things! In fact, a month had not passed, and no one would haverecognized Petrus. Why, what had happened to him? God knows. He sits inone spot, and says no word to any one: he thinks continually, and seemsto be trying to recall something. When Pidorka succeeds in getting him tospeak, he seems to forget himself, carries on a conversation, and evengrows cheerful; but if he inadvertently glances at the sacks, "Stop, stop! I have forgotten, " he cries, and again plunges into reverie, andagain strives to recall something. Sometimes when he has sat long in aplace, it seems to him as though it were coming, just coming back tomind, . . . And again all fades away. It seems as if he is sitting in thetavern: they bring him vodka; vodka stings him; vodka is repulsive tohim. Some one comes along, and strikes him on the shoulder; . . . Butbeyond that everything is veiled in darkness before him. Theperspiration streams down his face, and he sits exhausted in the sameplace. 

What did not Pidorka do? She consulted the sorceress; and they pouredout fear, and brewed stomach ache, [Footnote: "To pour out fear, " is donewith us in case of fear; when it is desired to know what caused it, melted lead or wax is poured into water, and the object whose form itassumes is the one which frightened the sick person; after this, thefear departs. Sonyashnitza is brewed for giddiness, and pain in thebowels. To this end, a bit of stump is burned, thrown into a jug, andturned upside down into a bowl filled with water, which is placed on thepatient's stomach: after an incantation, he is given a spoonful of thiswater to drink. ]--but all to no avail. And so the summer passed. Many aCossack had mowed and reaped: many a Cossack, more enterprising than therest, had set off upon an expedition. Flocks of ducks were alreadycrowding our marshes, but there was not even a hint of improvement. 

It was red upon the steppes. Ricks of grain, like Cossacks' caps, dottedthe fields here and there. On the highway were to be encountered wagonsloaded with brushwood and logs. The ground had become more solid, and inplaces was touched with frost. Already had the snow begun to besprinklethe sky, and the branches of the trees were covered with rime likerabbit-skin. Already on frosty days the red-breasted finch hopped abouton the snow-heaps like a foppish Polish nobleman, and picked out grainsof corn; and children, with huge sticks, chased wooden tops upon theice; while their fathers lay quietly on the stove, issuing forth atintervals with lighted pipes in their lips, to growl, in regularfashion, at the orthodox frost, or to take the air, and thresh the grainspread out in the barn. At last the snow began to melt, and the ice rindslipped away: but Petro remained the same; and, the longer it went on, the more morose he grew. He sat in the middle of the cottage as thoughnailed to the spot, with the sacks of gold at his feet. He grew shy, hishair grew long, he became terrible; and still he thought of but onething, still he tried to recall something, and got angry and ill-tempered because he could not recall it. Often, rising wildly from hisseat, he gesticulates violently, fixes his eyes on something as thoughdesirous of catching it: his lips move as though desirous of utteringsome long-forgotten word--and remain speechless. Fury takes possessionof him: he gnaws and bites his hands like a man half crazy, and in hisvexation tears out his hair by the handful, until, calming down, hefalls into forgetfulness, as it were, and again begins to recall, and isagain seized with fury and fresh tortures. . . . What visitation of God isthis?

Pidorka was neither dead nor alive. At first it was horrible to her toremain alone in the cottage; but, in course of time, the poor woman grewaccustomed to her sorrow. But it was impossible to recognize the Pidorkaof former days. No blush, no smile: she was thin and worn with grief, and had wept her bright eyes away. Once, some one who evidently tookpity on her advised her to go to the witch who dwelt in the Bear'sravine, and enjoyed the reputation of being able to cure every diseasein the world. She determined to try this last remedy: word by word shepersuaded the old woman to come to her. This was St. John's Eve, as itchanced. Petro lay insensible on the bench, and did not observe the new-comer. Little by little he rose, and looked about him. Suddenly hetrembled in every limb, as though he were on the scaffold: his hair roseupon his head, . . . And he laughed such a laugh as pierced Pidorka's heartwith fear. "I have remembered, remembered!" he cried in terrible joy;and, swinging a hatchet round his head, he flung it at the old womanwith all his might. The hatchet penetrated the oaken door two vershok(three inches and a half). The old woman disappeared; and a child ofseven in a white blouse, with covered head, stood in the middle of thecottage. . . . The sheet flew off. "Ivas!" cried Pidorka, and ran to him;but the apparition became covered from head to foot with blood, andillumined the whole room with red light. . . . She ran into the passage inher terror, but, on recovering herself a little, wished to help him; invain! the door had slammed to behind her so securely that she could notopen it. People ran up, and began to knock: they broke in the door, asthough there was but one mind among them. The whole cottage was full ofsmoke; and just in the middle, where Petrus had stood, was a heap ofashes, from which smoke was still rising. They flung themselves upon thesacks: only broken potsherds lay there instead of ducats. The Cossacksstood with staring eyes and open mouths, not daring to move a hair, asif rooted to the earth, such terror did this wonder inspire in them. 

I do not remember what happened next. Pidorka took a vow to go upon apilgrimage, collected the property left her by her father, and in a fewdays it was as if she had never been in the village. Whither she hadgone, no one could tell. Officious old women would have despatched herto the same place whither Petro had gone; but a Cossack from Kiefreported that he had seen in a cloister, a nun withered to a mereskeleton, who prayed unceasingly; and her fellow villagers recognizedher as Pidorka, by all the signs, --that no one had ever heard her uttera word; that she had come on foot, and had brought a frame for the ikonof God's mother, set with such brilliant stones that all were dazzled atthe sight. 

But this was not the end, if you please. On the same day that the EvilOne made way with Petrus, Basavriuk appeared again; but all fled fromhim. They knew what sort of a bird he was, --none else than Satan, whohad assumed human form in order to unearth treasures; and, sincetreasures do not yield to unclean hands, he seduced the young. That sameyear, all deserted their earth huts, and collected in a village; but, even there, there was no peace, on account of that accursed Basavriuk. My late grandfather's aunt said that he was particularly angry with her, because she had abandoned her former tavern, and tried with all hismight to revenge himself upon her. Once the village elders wereassembled in the tavern, and, as the saying goes, were arranging theprecedence at the table, in the middle of which was placed a smallroasted lamb, shame to say. They chattered about this, that, and theother, --among the rest about various marvels and strange things. Well, they saw something; it would have been nothing if only one had seen it, but all saw it; and it was this: the sheep raised his head; his gogglingeyes became alive and sparkled; and the black, bristling moustache, which appeared for one instant, made a significant gesture at thosepresent. All, at once, recognized Basavriuk's countenance in the sheep'shead: my grandfather's aunt thought it was on the point of asking forvodka. . . . The worthy elders seized their hats, and hastened home. 

Another time, the church starost [Footnote: Elder] himself, who wasfond of an occasional private interview with my grandfather's brandy-glass, had not succeeded in getting to the bottom twice, when he beheldthe glass bowing very low to him. "Satan take you, let us make the signof the cross over you!" . . . And the same marvel happened to his better-half. She had just begun to mix the dough in a huge kneading-trough, when suddenly the trough sprang up. "Stop, stop! where are you going?"Putting its arms akimbo, with dignity, it went skipping all about thecottage. . . . You may laugh, but it was no laughing-matter to ourgrandfathers. And in vain did Father Athanasii go through all thevillage with holy water, and chase the Devil through all the streetswith his brush; and my late grandfather's aunt long complained that, assoon as it was dark, some one came knocking at her door, and scratchingat the wall. 

Well! All appears to be quiet now, in the place where our villagestands; but it was not so very long ago--my father was still alive--thatI remember how a good man could not pass the ruined tavern, which adishonest race had long managed for their own interest. From the smoke-blackened chimneys, smoke poured out in a pillar, and rising high in theair, as if to take an observation, rolled off like a cap, scatteringburning coals over the steppe; and Satan (the son of a dog should not bementioned) sobbed so pitifully in his lair, that the startled ravensrose in flocks from the neighboring oak-wood, and flew through the airwith wild cries. 

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

BY

COUNT LYOF N. TOLSTOI

From "The Invaders. " Translated by N. H. Dole. 

1887

(Prince Nekhiludof Relates how, during an Expedition in the Caucasus, he met an Acquaintance from Moscow)

Our division had been out in the field. The work in hand wasaccomplished: we had cut a way through the forest, and each day we wereexpecting from headquarters orders for our return to the fort. Ourdivision of fieldpieces was stationed at the top of a steep mountain-crest which was terminated by the swift mountain-river Mechik, and hadto command the plain that stretched before us. Here and there on thispicturesque plain, out of the reach of gunshot, now and then, especiallyat evening, groups of mounted mountaineers showed themselves, attractedby curiosity to ride up and view the Russian camp. 

The evening was clear, mild, and fresh, as it is apt to be in Decemberin the Caucasus; the sun was setting behind the steep chain of themountains at the left, and threw rosy rays upon the tents scattered overthe slope, upon the soldiers moving about, and upon our two guns, whichseemed to crane their necks as they rested motionless on the earthworktwo paces from us. The infantry picket, stationed on the knoll at theleft, stood in perfect silhouette against the light of the sunset; noless distinct were the stacks of muskets, the form of the sentry, thegroups of soldiers, and the smoke of the smouldering camp-fire. 

At the right and left of the slope, on the black, sodden earth, thetents gleamed white; and behind the tents, black, stood the bare trunksof the platane forest, which rang with the incessant sound of axes, thecrackling of the bonfires, and the crashing of the trees as they fellunder the axes. The bluish smoke arose from tobacco-pipes on all sides, and vanished in the transparent blue of the frosty sky. By the tents andon the lower ground around the arms rushed the Cossacks, dragoons, andartillerists, with great galloping and snorting of horses as theyreturned from getting water. It began to freeze; all sounds were heardwith extraordinary distinctness, and one could see an immense distanceacross the plain through the clear, rare atmosphere. The groups of theenemy, their curiosity at seeing the soldiers satisfied, quietlygalloped off across the fields, still yellow with the golden corn-stubble, toward their auls, or villages, which were visible beyond theforest, with the tall posts of the cemeteries and the smoke rising inthe air. 

Our tent was pitched not far from the guns on a place high and dry, fromwhich we had a remarkably extended view. Near the tent, on a clearedspace, around the battery itself, we had our games of skittles, orchushki. The obliging soldiers had made for us rustic benches andtables. On account of all these amusements, the artillery officers, ourcomrades, and a few infantry men liked to gather of an evening aroundour battery, and the place came to be called the club. 

As the evening was fine, the best players had come, and we were amusingourselves with skittles [Footnote: Gorodki]. Ensign D. , Lieutenant O. , and myself had played two games in succession; and to the commonsatisfaction and amusement of all the spectators, officers, soldiers, and servants [Footnote: Denshchiki ] who were watching us from theirtents, we had twice carried the winning party on our backs from one endof the ground to the other. Especially droll was the situation of thehuge fat Captain S. , who, puffing and smiling good-naturedly, with legsdragging on the ground, rode pickaback on the feeble little LieutenantO. 

When it grew somewhat later, the servants brought three glasses of teafor the six men of us, and not a spoon; and we who had finished our gamecame to the plaited settees. 

There was standing near them a small bow-legged man, a stranger to us, in a sheepskin jacket, and a papakha, or Circassian cap, with a longoverhanging white crown. As soon as we came near where he stood, he tooka few irresolute steps, and put on his cap; and several times he seemedto make up his mind to come to meet us, and then stopped again. Butafter deciding, probably, that it was impossible to remain irresolute, the stranger took off his cap, and, going in a circuit around us, approached Captain S. 

"Ah, Guskantinli, how is it, old man?" [Footnote: Nu chto, batenka, ]said S. , still smiling good-naturedly, under the influence of his ride. 

Guskantni, as S. Called him, instantly replaced his cap, and made amotion as though to thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket;[Footnote: Polushubok, little half shuba, or fur cloak. ] but on the sidetoward me there was no pocket in the jacket, and his small red hand fellinto an awkward position. I felt a strong desire to make out who thisman was (was he a yunker, or a degraded officer?), and, not realizingthat my gaze (that is, the gaze of a strange officer) disconcerted him, I continued to stare at his dress and appearance. 

I judged that he was about thirty. His small, round, gray eyes had asleepy expression, and at the same time gazed calmly out from under thedirty white lambskin of his cap, which hung down over his face. Histhick, irregular nose, standing out between his sunken cheeks, gaveevidence of emaciation that was the result of illness, and not natural. His restless lips, barely covered by a sparse, soft, whitish moustache, were constantly changing their shape as though they were trying toassume now one expression, now another. But all these expressions seemedto be endless, and his face retained one predominating expression oftimidity and fright. Around his thin neck, where the veins stood out, was tied a green woollen scarf tucked into his jacket, his fur jacket, or polushubok, was worn bare, short, and had dog-fur sewed on the collarand on the false pockets. The trousers were checkered, of ash-graycolor, and his sapogi had short, unblacked military bootlegs. 

"I beg of you, do not disturb yourself, " said I when he for the secondtime, timidly glancing at me, had taken off his cap. 

He bowed to me with an expression of gratitude, replaced his hat, and, drawing from his pocket a dirty chintz tobacco-pouch with lacings, beganto roll a cigarette. 

I myself had not been long a yunker, an elderly yunker; and as I wasincapable, as yet, of being good-naturedly serviceable to my youngercomrades, and without means, I well knew all the moral difficulties ofthis situation for a proud man no longer young, and I sympathized withall men who found themselves in such a situation, and I endeavored tomake clear to myself their character and rank, and the tendencies oftheir intellectual peculiarities, in order to judge of the degree oftheir moral sufferings. This yunker or degraded officer, judging by hisrestless eyes and that intentionally constant variation of expressionwhich I noticed in him, was a man very far from stupid, and extremelyegotistical, and therefore much to be pitied. 

Captain S. Invited us to play another game of skittles, with the stakesto consist, not only of the usual pickaback ride of the winning party, but also of a few bottles of red wine, rum, sugar, cinnamon, and clovesfor the mulled wine which that winter, on account of the cold, wasgreatly popular in our division. 

Guskantini, as S. Again called him, was also invited to take part; butbefore the game began, the man, struggling between gratification becausehe had been invited and a certain timidity, drew Captain S. Aside, andbegan to say something in a whisper. The good-natured captain punchedhim in the ribs with his big, fat hand, and replied, loud enough to beheard:

"Not at all, old fellow [Footnote: Batenka, Malo-Russian diminutive, little father], I assure you. "

When the game was over, and that side in which the stranger whose rankwas so low had taken part, had come out winners, and it fell to his lotto ride on one of our officers, Ensign D. , the ensign grew red in theface: he went to the little divan and offered the stranger a cigaretteby way of a compromise. 

While they were ordering the mulled wine, and in the steward's tent wereheard assiduous preparations on the part of Nikita, who had sent anorderly for cinnamon and cloves, and the shadow of his back wasalternately lengthening and shortening on the dingy sides of the tent, we men, seven in all, sat around on the benches; and while we took turnsin drinking tea from the three glasses, and gazed out over the plain, which was now beginning to glow in the twilight, we talked and laughedover the various incidents of the game. 

The stranger in the fur jacket took no share in the conversation, obstinately refused to drink the tea which I several times offered him, and as he sat there on the ground in Tartar fashion, occupied himself inmaking cigarettes of fine-cut tobacco, and smoking them one afteranother, evidently not so much for his own satisfaction as to givehimself the appearance of a man with something to do. When it wasremarked that the summons to return was expected on the morrow, and thatthere might be an engagement, he lifted himself on his knees, and, addressing Captain B. Only, said that he had been at the adjutant's, andhad himself written the order for the return on the next day. We allsaid nothing while he was speaking; and notwithstanding the fact that hewas so bashful, we begged him to repeat this most interesting piece ofnews. He repeated what he had said, adding only that he had beenstaying at the adjutant's (since he made it his home there) when theorder came. 

"Look here, old fellow, if you are not telling us false, I shall have togo to my company and give some orders for to-morrow, " said Captain S. 

"No . . . Why . . . It may be, I am sure, " . . . Stammered the stranger, but suddenly stopped, and, apparently feeling himself affronted, contractedhis brows, and, muttering something between his teeth, again began toroll a cigarette. But the fine-cut tobacco in his chintz pouch began toshow signs of giving out, and he asked S. To lend him a littlecigarette. [Footnote: PAPIROSTCHKA, diminished diminutive of PAPIROSKA, from PAPIROS. ]

We kept on for a considerable time with that monotonous military chatterwhich every one who has ever been on an expedition will appreciate; allof us, with one and the same expression, complaining of the dullness andlength of the expedition, in one and the same fashion sitting injudgment on our superiors, and all of us likewise, as we had done manytimes before, praising one comrade, pitying another, wondering how muchthis one had gained, how much that one had lost, and so on, and so on. 

"Here, fellows, this adjutant of ours is completely broken up, " saidCaptain S. "At headquarters he was everlastingly on the winning side; nomatter whom he sat down with, he'd rake in everything: but now for twomonths past he has been losing all the time. The present expeditionhasn't been lucky for him. I think he has got away with two thousandsilver rubles and five hundred rubles' worth of articles, --the carpetthat he won at Mukhin's, Nikitin's pistols, Sada's gold watch whichVorontsof gave him. He has lost it all. "

"The truth of the matter in his case, " said Lieutenant O. , "was that heused to cheat everybody; it was impossible to play with him. "

"He cheated every one, but now it's all gone up in his pipe;" and hereCaptain S. Laughed good-naturedly. "Our friend Guskof here lives withhim. He hasn't quite lost HIM yet: that's so, isn't it, old fellow?"[Footnote: Batenka] he asked, addressing Guskof. 

Guskof tried to laugh. It was a melancholy, sickly laugh, whichcompletely changed the expression of his countenance. Till this momentit had seemed to me that I had seen and known this man before; and, besides the name Guskof, by which Captain S. Called him, was familiar tome; but how and when I had seen and known him, I actually could notremember. 

"Yes, " said Guskof, incessantly putting his hand to his moustaches, butinstantly dropping it again without touching them. "Pavel Dmitrievitch'sluck has been against him in this expedition, such a veine de malheur"he added in a careful but pure French pronunciation, again giving me tothink that I had seen him, and seen him often, somewhere. "I know PavelDmitrievitch very well. He has great confidence in me, " he proceeded tosay; "he and I are old friends; that is, he is fond of me, " heexplained, evidently fearing that it might be taken as presumption forhim to claim old friendship with the adjutant. "Pavel Dmitrievitch playsadmirably; but now, strange as it may seem, it's all up with him, he isjust about perfectly ruined; la chance a tourne, " he added, addressinghimself particularly to me. 

At first we had listened to Guskof with condescending attention; but assoon as he made use of that second French phrase, we all involuntarilyturned from him. 

"I have played with him a thousand times, and we agreed then that it wasstrange, " said Lieutenant O. , with peculiar emphasis on the word STRANGE[Footnote: Stranno]. "I never once won a ruble from him. Why was it, when I used to win of others?"

"Pavel Dmitrievitch plays admirably: I have known him for a long time, "said I. In fact, I had known the adjutant for several years; more thanonce I had seen him in the full swing of a game, surrounded by officers, and I had remarked his handsome, rather gloomy and always passionlesscalm face, his deliberate Malo-Russian pronunciation, his handsomebelongings and horses, his bold, manly figure, and above all his skilland self-restraint in carrying on the game accurately and agreeably. More than once, I am sorry to say, as I looked at his plump white handswith a diamond ring on the index-finger, passing out one card afteranother, I grew angry with that ring, with his white hands, with thewhole of the adjutant's person, and evil thoughts on his account arosein my mind. But as I afterwards reconsidered the matter coolly, Ipersuaded myself that he played more skilfully than all with whom hehappened to play: the more so, because as I heard his generalobservations concerning the game, --how one ought not to back out whenone had laid the smallest stake, how one ought not to leave off incertain cases as the first rule for honest men, and so forth, and soforth, --it was evident that he was always on the winning side merelyfrom the fact that he played more sagaciously and coolly than the restof us. And now it seemed that this self-reliant, careful player had beenstripped not only of his money but of his effects, which marks thelowest depths of loss for an officer. 

"He always had devilish good luck with me, " said Lieutenant O. "I made avow never to play with him again. "

"What a marvel you are, old fellow!" said S. , nodding at me, andaddressing O. "You lost three hundred silver rubles, that's what youlost to him. "

"More than that, " said the lieutenant savagely. 

"And now you have come to your senses; it is rather late in the day, oldman, for the rest of us have known for a long time that he was the cheatof the regiment, " said S. , with difficulty restraining his laughter, andfeeling very well satisfied with his fabrication. "Here is Guskof righthere, --he FIXES his cards for him. That's the reason of the friendshipbetween them, old man" [Footnote: BATENKA MOI] . . . And Captain S. , shaking all over, burst out into such a hearty "ha, ha, ha!" that hespilt the glass of mulled wine which he was holding in his hand. OnGuskof's pale emaciated face there showed something like a color; heopened his mouth several times, raised his hands to his moustaches, andonce more dropped them to his side where the pockets should have been, stood up, and then sat down again, and finally in an unnatural voicesaid to S. :

"It's no joke, Nikolai Ivanovitch, for you to say such things beforepeople who don't know me and who see me in this unlined jacket . . . Because--" His voice failed him, and again his small red hands withtheir dirty nails went from his jacket to his face, touching hismoustache, his hair, his nose, rubbing his eyes, or needlesslyscratching his cheek. 

"As to saying that, everybody knows it, old fellow, " continued S. , thoroughly satisfied with his jest, and not heeding Guskof's complaint. Guskof was still trying to say something; and placing the palm of hisright hand on his left knee in a most unnatural position, and gazing atS. , he had an appearance of smiling contemptuously. 

"No, " said I to myself, as I noticed that smile of his, "I have not onlyseen him, but have spoken with him somewhere. "

"You and I have met somewhere, " said I to him when, under the influenceof the common silence, S. 's laughter began to calm down. Guskof's mobileface suddenly lighted up, and his eyes, for the first time with a trulyjoyous expression, rested upon me. 

"Why, I recognized you immediately, " he replied in French. "In '48 I hadthe pleasure of meeting you quite frequently in Moscow at my sister's. "

I had to apologize for not recognizing him at first in that costume andin that new garb. He arose, came to me, and with his moist handirresolutely and weakly seized my hand, and sat down by me. Instead oflooking at me, though he apparently seemed so glad to see me, he gazedwith an expression of unfriendly bravado at the officers. 

Either because I recognized in him a man whom I had met a few yearsbefore in a dresscoat in a parlor, or because he was suddenly raised inhis own opinion by the fact of being recognized, --at all events itseemed to me that his face and even his motions completely changed: theynow expressed lively intelligence, a childish self-satisfaction in theconsciousness of such intelligence, and a certain contemptuousindifference; so that I confess, notwithstanding the pitiable positionin which he found himself, my old acquaintance did not so much excitesympathy in me as it did a sort of unfavorable sentiment. 

I now vividly remembered our first meeting. In 1848, while I was stayingat Moscow, I frequently went to the house of Ivashin, who from childhoodhad been an old friend of mine. His wife was an agreeable hostess, acharming woman, as everybody said; but she never pleased me. . . . Thewinter that I knew her, she often spoke with hardly concealed pride ofher brother, who had shortly before completed his course, and promisedto be one of the most fashionable and popular young men in the bestsociety of Petersburg. As I knew by reputation the father of theGuskofs, who was very rich and had a distinguished position, and as Iknew also the sister's ways, I felt some prejudice against meeting theyoung man. One evening when I was at Ivashin's, I saw a short, thoroughly pleasant-looking young man, in a black coat, white vest andnecktie. My host hastened to make me acquainted with him. The young man, evidently dressed for a ball, with his cap in his hand, was standingbefore Ivashin, and was eagerly but politely arguing with him about acommon friend of ours, who had distinguished himself at the time of theHungarian campaign. He said that this acquaintance was not at all a heroor a man born for war, as was said of him, but was simply a clever andcultivated man. I recollect, I took part in the argument against Guskof, and went to the extreme of declaring also that intellect and cultivationalways bore an inverse relation to bravery; and I recollect how Guskofpleasantly and cleverly pointed out to me that bravery was necessarilythe result of intellect and a decided degree of development, --astatement which I, who considered myself an intellectual and cultivatedman, could not in my heart of hearts agree with. 

I recollect that towards the close of our conversation Madame Ivashinaintroduced me to her brother; and he, with a condescending smile, offered me his little hand on which he had not yet had time to draw hiskid gloves, and weakly and irresolutely pressed my hand as he did now. Though I had been prejudiced against Guskof, I could not help grantingthat he was in the right, and agreeing with his sister that he wasreally a clever and agreeable young man, who ought to have great successin society. He was extraordinarily neat, beautifully dressed, and fresh, and had affectedly modest manners, and a thoroughly youthful, almostchildish appearance, on account of which you could not help excusing hisexpression of self-sufficiency, though it modified the impression of hishigh-mightiness caused by his intellectual face and especially hissmile. It is said that he had great success that winter with the high-born ladies of Moscow. As I saw him at his sister's I could only inferhow far this was true by the feeling of pleasure and contentmentconstantly excited in me by his youthful appearance and by his sometimesindiscreet anecdotes. He and I met half a dozen times, and talked a gooddeal; or, rather, he talked a good deal, and I listened. He spoke forthe most part in French, always with a good accent, very fluently andornately; and he had the skill of drawing others gently and politelyinto the conversation. As a general thing, he behaved toward all, andtoward me, in a somewhat supercilious manner, and I felt that he wasperfectly right in this way of treating people. I always feel that wayin regard to men who are firmly convinced that they ought to treat mesuperciliously, and who are comparative strangers to me. 

Now, as he sat with me, and gave me his hand, I keenly recalled in himthat same old haughtiness of expression; and it seemed to me that he didnot properly appreciate his position of official inferiority, as, in thepresence of the officers, he asked me what I had been doing in all thattime, and how I happened to be there. In spite of the fact that Iinvariably made my replies in Russian, he kept putting his questions inFrench, expressing himself as before in remarkably correct language. About himself he said fluently that after his unhappy, wretched story(what the story was, I did not know, and he had not yet told me), he hadbeen three months under arrest, and then had been sent to the Caucasusto the N. Regiment, and now had been serving three years as a soldier inthat regiment. 

"You would not believe, " said he to me in French, "how much I have tosuffer in these regiments from the society of the officers. Still it isa pleasure to me, that I used to know the adjutant of whom we were justspeaking: he is a good man--it's a fact, " he remarked condescendingly. "I live with him, and that's something of a relief for me. Yes, my dear, the days fly by, but they aren't all alike, " [Footnote: OUI, MON CHER, LES JOURS SE SUIVENT, MAIS NE SE RESSEMBLENT PAS: in French in theoriginal. ] he added; and suddenly hesitated, reddened, and stood up, ashe caught sight of the adjutant himself coming toward us. 

"It is such a pleasure to meet such a man as you, " said Guskof to me ina whisper as he turned from me. "I should like very, very much, to havea long talk with you. "

I said that I should be very happy to talk with him, but in reality Iconfess that Guskof excited in me a sort of dull pity that was not akinto sympathy. 

I had a presentiment that I should feel a constraint in a privateconversation with him; but still I was anxious to learn from him severalthings, and, above all, why it was, when his father had been so rich, that he was in poverty, as was evident by his dress and appearance. 

The adjutant greeted us all, including Guskof, and sat down by me in theseat which the cashiered officer had just vacated. Pavel Dmitrievitch, who had always been calm and leisurely, a genuine gambler, and a man ofmeans, was now very different from what he had been in the flowery daysof his success; he seemed to be in haste to go somewhere, keptconstantly glancing at everybody, and it was not five minutes before heproposed to Lieutenant O. , who had sworn off from playing, to set up asmall faro-bank. Lieutenant O. Refused, under the pretext of having toattend to his duties, but in reality because, as he knew that theadjutant had few possessions and little money left, he did not feelhimself justified in risking his three hundred rubles against a hundredor even less which the adjutant might stake. 

"Well, Pavel Dmitrievitch, " said the lieutenant, anxious to avoid arepetition of the invitation, "is it true, what they tell us, that wereturn to-morrow?"

"I don't know, " replied the adjutant. "Orders came to be in readiness;but if it's true, then you'd better play a game. I would wager myKabarda cloak. "

"No, to-day already" . . . 

"It's a gray one, never been worn; but if you prefer, play for money. How is that?"

"Yes, but . . . I should be willing--pray don't think that" . . . SaidLieutenant O. , answering the implied suspicion; "but as there may be araid or some movement, I must go to bed early. "

The adjutant stood up, and, thrusting his hands into his pockets, started to go across the grounds. His face assumed its ordinaryexpression of coldness and pride, which I admired in him. 

"Won't you have a glass of mulled wine?" I asked him. 

"That might be acceptable, " and he came back to me; but Guskof politelytook the glass from me, and handed it to the adjutant, striving at thesame time not to look at him. But as he did not notice the tent-rope, hestumbled over it, and fell on his hand, dropping the glass. 

"What a bungler!" exclaimed the adjutant, still holding out his hand forthe glass. Everybody burst out laughing, not excepting Guskof, who wasrubbing his hand on his sore knee, which he had somehow struck as hefell. "That's the way the bear waited on the hermit, " continued theadjutant. "It's the way he waits on me every day. He has pulled up allthe tent-pins; he's always tripping up. "

Guskof, not hearing him, apologized to us, and glanced toward me with asmile of almost noticeable melancholy, as though saying that I alonecould understand him. He was pitiable to see; but the adjutant, hisprotector, seemed, on that very account, to be severe on his messmate, and did not try to put him at his ease. 

"Well, you're a graceful lad! Where did you think you were going?"

"Well, who can help tripping over these pins, Pavel Dmitrievitch?" saidGuskof. "You tripped over them yourself the other day. "

"I, old man, [Footnote: batiushka]--I am not of the rank and file, andsuch gracefulness is not expected of me. "

"He can be lazy, " said Captain S. , keeping the ball rolling, "but low-rank men have to make their legs fly. "

"Ill-timed jest, " said Guskof, almost in a whisper, and casting down hiseyes. The adjutant was evidently vexed with his messmate; he listenedwith inquisitive attention to every word that he said. 

"He'll have to be sent out into ambuscade again, " said he, addressingS. , and pointing to the cashiered officer. 

"Well, there'll be some more tears, " said S. , laughing. Guskof no longerlooked at me, but acted as though he were going to take some tobaccofrom his pouch, though there had been none there for some time. 

"Get ready for the ambuscade, old man, " said S. , addressing him withshouts of laughter. "To-day the scouts have brought the news, there'llbe an attack on the camp to-night, so it's necessary to designate thetrusty lads. " Guskof's face showed a fleeting smile as though he werepreparing to make some reply, but several times he cast a supplicatinglook at S. 

"Well, you know I have been, and I'm ready to go again if I am sent, " hesaid hastily. 

"Then you'll be sent. "

"Well, I'll go. Isn't that all right?"

"Yes, as at Arguna, you deserted the ambuscade and threw away your gun, "said the adjutant; and turning from him he began to tell us the ordersfor the next day. 

As a matter of fact, we expected from the enemy a cannonade of the campthat night, and the next day some sort of diversion. While we were stillchatting about various subjects of general interest, the adjutant, asthough from a sudden and unexpected impulse, proposed to Lieutenant O. To have a little game. The lieutenant most unexpectedly consented; and, together with S. And the ensign, they went off to the adjutant's tent, where there was a folding green table with cards on it. The captain, thecommander of our division, went to our tent to sleep; the othergentlemen also separated, and Guskof and I were left alone. I was notmistaken, it was really very uncomfortable for me to have a tete-a-tetewith him; I arose involuntarily, and began to promenade up and down onthe battery. Guskof walked in silence by my side, hastily and awkwardlywheeling around so as not to delay or incommode me. 

"I do not annoy you?" he asked in a soft, mournful voice. So far as Icould see his face in the dim light, it seemed to me deeply thoughtfuland melancholy. 

"Not at all, " I replied; but as he did not immediately begin to speak, and as I did not know what to say to him, we walked in silence aconsiderably long time. 

The twilight had now absolutely changed into dark night; over the blackprofile of the mountains gleamed the bright evening heat-lightning; overour heads in the light-blue frosty sky twinkled the little stars; on allsides gleamed the ruddy flames of the smoking watch-fires; near us, thewhite tents stood out in contrast to the frowning blackness of ourearth-works. The light from the nearest watch-fire, around which ourservants, engaged in quiet conversation, were warming themselves, occasionally flashed on the brass of our heavy guns, and fell on theform of the sentry, who, wrapped in his cloak, paced with measured treadalong the battery. 

"You cannot imagine what a delight it is for me to talk with such a manas you are, " said Guskof, although as yet he had not spoken a word tome. "Only one who had been in my position could appreciate it. "

I did not know how to reply to him, and we again relapsed into silence, although it was evident that he was anxious to talk and have me listento him. 

"Why were you . . . Why did you suffer this?" I inquired at last, not beingable to invent any better way of breaking the ice. 

"Why, didn't you hear about this wretched business from Metenin?"

"Yes, a duel, I believe; I did not hear much about it, " I replied. "Yousee, I have been for some time in the Caucasus. "

"No, it wasn't a duel, but it was a stupid and horrid story. I will tellyou all about it, if you don't know. It happened that the same year thatI met you at my sister's I was living at Petersburg. I must tell you Ihad then what they call une position dans le monde, --a position goodenough if it was not brilliant. Mon pere me donnait ten thousand par an. In '49 I was promised a place in the embassy at Turin; my uncle on mymother's side had influence, and was always ready to do a great deal forme. That sort of thing is all past now. J'etais recu dans la meilleuresociete de Petersburg; I might have aspired to any girl in the city. Iwas well educated, as we all are who come from the school, but was notespecially cultivated; to be sure, I read a good deal afterwards, maisj'avais surtout, you know, ce jargon du monde, and, however it cameabout, I was looked upon as a leading light among the young men ofPetersburg. What raised me more than all in common estimation, c'estcette liaison avec Madame D. , about which a great deal was said inPetersburg; but I was frightfully young at that time, and did not prizethese advantages very highly. I was simply young and stupid. What moredid I need? Just then that Metenin had some notoriety--"

And Guskof went on in the same fashion to relate to me the history ofhis misfortunes, which I will omit, as it would not be at allinteresting. 

"Two months I remained under arrest, " he continued, "absolutely alone;and what thoughts did I not have during that time? But, you know, whenit was all over, as though every tie had been broken with the past, thenit became easier for me. Mon pere, --you have heard tell of him, ofcourse, a man of iron will and strong convictions, --il m'a desherite, and broken off all intercourse with me. According to his convictions hehad to do as he did, and I don't blame him at all. He was consistent. Consequently, I have not taken a step to induce him to change his mind. My sister was abroad. Madame D. Is the only one who wrote to me when Iwas released, and she sent me assistance; but you understand that Icould not accept it, so that I had none of those little things whichmake one's position a little easier, you know, --books, linen, food, nothing at all. At this time I thought things over and over, and beganto look at life with different eyes. For instance, this noise, thissociety gossip about me in Petersburg, did not interest me, did notflatter me; it all seemed to me ridiculous. I felt that I myself hadbeen to blame; I was young and indiscreet; I had spoiled my career, andI only thought how I might get into the right track again. And I feltthat I had strength and energy enough for it. After my arrest, as I toldyou, I was sent here to the Caucasus to the N. Regiment. 

"I thought, " he went on to say, all the time becoming more and moreanimated, --"I thought that here in the Caucasus, la vie de camp, thesimple, honest men with whom I should associate, and war and danger, would all admirably agree with my mental state, so that I might begin anew life. They will see me under fire. [Footnote: On me verra au feu. ] Ishall make myself liked; I shall be respected for my real self, --thecross--non-commissioned officer; they will relieve me of my fine; and Ishall get up again, et vous savez avec ce prestige du malheur! But, queldesenchantement! You can't imagine how I have been deceived! You knowwhat sort of men the officers of our regiment are. "

He did not speak for some little time, waiting, as it appeared, for meto tell him that I knew the society of our officers here was bad; but Imade him no reply. It went against my grain that he should expect me, because I knew French, forsooth, to be obliged to take issue with thesociety of the officers, which, during my long residence in theCaucasus, I had had time enough to appreciate fully, and for which I hadfar higher respect than for the society from which Mr. Guskof hadsprung. I wanted to tell him so, but his position constrained me. 

"In the N. Regiment the society of the officers is a thousand timesworse than it is here, " he continued. "I hope that it is saying a gooddeal; J'ESPERE QUE C'EST BEAUCOUP DIRE; that is, you cannot imagine whatit is. I am not speaking of the yunkers and the soldiers. That ishorrible, it is so bad. At first they received me very kindly, that isabsolutely the truth; but when they saw that I could not help despisingthem, you know, in these inconceivably small circumstances, they sawthat I was a man absolutely different, standing far above them, they gotangry with me, and began to put various little humiliations on me. Youhaven't an idea what I had to suffer. [Footnote: CE QUE J'AI EUASOUFFRIR VOUS NE FAITES PAS UNE IDEE. ] Then this forced relationshipwith the yunkers, and especially with the small means that I had--Ilacked everything; [Footnote: AVEC LES PETITS MOYENS QUE J'AVAIS, JEMANQUAIS DE TOUT] I had only what my sister used to send me. And here'sa proof for you! As much as it made me suffer, I with my character, AVECMA FIERTE J'AI ECRIS A MON PERE, begged him to send me something. Iunderstand how living four years of such a life may make a man like ourcashiered Dromof who drinks with soldiers, and writes notes to all theofficers asking them to loan him three rubles, and signing it, TOUT AVOUS, DROMOF. One must have such a character as I have, not to be miredin the least by such a horrible position. "

For some time he walked in silence by my side. 

"Have you a cigarette?" [Footnote: "Avez-vous un papiros?"] he asked me. 

"And so I stayed right where I was? Yes. I could not endure itphysically, because, though we were wretched, cold, and ill-fed, I livedlike a common soldier, but still the officers had some sort ofconsideration for me. I had still some prestige that they regarded. Iwasn't sent out on guard nor for drill. I could not have stood that. Butmorally my sufferings were frightful; and especially because I didn'tsee any escape from my position. I wrote my uncle, begged him to get metransferred to my present regiment, which, at least, sees some service;and I thought that here Pavel Dmitrievitch, qui est le fils del'intendant de mon pere, might be of some use to me. My uncle did thisfor me; I was transferred. After that regiment this one seemed to me acollection of chamberlains. Then Pavel Dmitrievitch was here; he knewwho I was, and I was splendidly received. At my uncle's request--aGuskof, vous savez; but I forgot that with these men without cultivationand undeveloped, --they can't appreciate a man, and show him marks ofesteem, unless he has that aureole of wealth, of friends; and I noticedhow, little by little, when they saw that I was poor, their behavior tome showed more and more indifference until they have come almost todespise me. It is horrible, but it is absolutely the truth. 

"Here I have been in action, I have fought, they have seen me underfire, " [Footnote: On m'a vu au feu. ] he continued; "but when will it allend? I think, never. And my strength and energy have already begun toflag. Then I had imagined la guerre, la vie de camp; but it isn't at allwhat I see, in a sheepskin jacket, dirty linen, soldier's boots, and yougo out in ambuscade, and the whole night long lie in the ditch with someAntonof reduced to the ranks for drunkenness, and any minute from behindthe bush may come a rifle-shot and hit you or Antonof, --it's all thesame which. That is not bravery; it's horrible, c'est affreux, it'skilling!" [Footnote: Ca tue]

"Well, you can be promoted a non-commissioned officer for this campaign, and next year an ensign, " said I. 

"Yes, it may be: they promised me that in two years, and it's not upyet. What would those two years amount to, if I knew any one! You canimagine this life with Pavel Dmitrievitch; cards, low jokes, drinkingall the time; if you wish to tell anything that is weighing on yourmind, you would not be understood, or you would be laughed at: they talkwith you, not for the sake of sharing a thought, but to get somethingfunny out of you. Yes, and so it has gone--in a brutal, beastly way, andyou are always conscious that you belong to the rank and file; theyalways make you feel that. Hence you can't realize what an enjoyment itis to talk a coeur ouvert to such a man as you are. "

I had never imagined what kind of a man I was, and consequently I didnot know what answer to make him. 

"Will you have your lunch now?" asked Nikita at this juncture, approaching me unseen in the darkness, and, as I could perceive, vexedat the presence of a guest. "Nothing but curd dumplings, there's none ofthe roast beef left. "

"Has the captain had his lunch yet?"

"He went to bed long ago, " replied Nikita, gruffly, "According to mydirections, I was to bring you lunch here and your brandy. " He mutteredsomething else discontentedly, and sauntered off to his tent. Afterloitering a while longer, he brought us, nevertheless, a lunch-case; heplaced a candle on the lunch-case, and shielded it from the wind with asheet of paper. He brought a saucepan, some mustard in a jar, a tindipper with a handle, and a bottle of absinthe. After arranging thesethings, Nikita lingered around us for some moments, and looked on asGuskof and I were drinking the liquor, and it was evidently verydistasteful to him. By the feeble light shed by the candle through thepaper, amid the encircling darkness, could be seen the seal-skin coverof the lunch-case, the supper arranged upon it, Guskof's sheepskinjacket, his face, and his small red hands which he used in lifting thepatties from the pan. Everything around us was black; and only bystraining the sight could be seen the dark battery, the dark form of thesentry moving along the breastwork, on all sides the watch-fires, and onhigh the ruddy stars. 

Guskof wore a melancholy, almost guilty smile as though it were awkwardfor him to look into my face after his confession. He drank stillanother glass of liquor, and ate ravenously, emptying the saucepan. 

"Yes; for you it must be a relief all the same, " said I, for the sake ofsaying something, --"your acquaintance with the adjutant. He is a verygood man, I have heard. "

"Yes, " replied the cashiered officer, "he is a kind man; but he can'thelp being what he is, with his education, and it is useless to expectit. "

A flush seemed suddenly to cross his face. "You remarked his coarse jestthis evening about the ambuscade;" and Guskof, though I tried severaltimes to interrupt him, began to justify himself before me, and to showthat he had not run away from the ambuscade, and that he was not acoward as the adjutant and Capt. S. Tried to make him out. 

"As I was telling you, " he went on to say, wiping his hands on hisjacket, "such people can't show any delicacy toward a man, a commonsoldier, who hasn't much money either. That's beyond their strength. Andhere recently, while I haven't received anything at all from my sister, I have been conscious that they have changed toward me. This sheepskinjacket, which I bought of a soldier, and which hasn't any warmth in it, because it's all worn off" (and here he showed me where the wool wasgone from the inside), "it doesn't arouse in him any sympathy orconsideration for my unhappiness, but scorn, which he does not takepains to hide. Whatever my necessities may be, as now when I havenothing to eat except soldiers' gruel, and nothing to wear, " hecontinued, casting down his eyes, and pouring out for himself stillanother glass of liquor, "he does not even offer to lend me some money, though he knows perfectly well that I would give it back to him; but hewaits till I am obliged to ask him for it. But you appreciate how it isfor me to go to him. In your case I should say, square and fair, vousetes audessus de cela, mon cher, je n'ai pas le sou. And you know, " saidhe, looking straight into my eyes with an expression of desperation, "Iam going to tell you, square and fair, I am in a terrible situation:pouvez-vous me preter dix rubles argent? My sister ought to send me someby the mail, et mon pere--"

"Why, most willingly, " said I, although, on the contrary, it was tryingand unpleasant, especially because the evening before, having lost atcards, I had left only about five rubles in Nikita's care. "In amoment, " said I, arising, "I will go and get it at the tent. "

"No, by and by: ne vous derangez pas. "

Nevertheless, not heeding him, I hastened to the closed tent, wherestood my bed, and where the captain was sleeping. 

"Aleksei Ivanuitch, let me have ten rubles, please, for rations, " said Ito the captain, shaking him. 

"What! have you been losing again? But this very evening, you were notgoing to play any more, " murmured the captain, still half asleep. 

"No, I have not been playing; but I want the money; let me have it, please. "

"Makatiuk!" shouted the captain to his servant, [Footnote: Denshchik. ]"hand me my bag with the money. "

"Hush, hush!" said I, hearing Guskof's measured steps near the tent. 

"What? Why hush?"

"Because that cashiered fellow has asked to borrow it of me. He's rightthere. "

"Well, if you knew him, you wouldn't let him have it, " remarked thecaptain. "I have heard about him. He's a dirty, low-lived fellow. "

Nevertheless, the captain gave me the money, ordered his man to put awaythe bag, pulled the flap of the tent neatly to, and, again saying, "Ifyou only knew him, you wouldn't let him have it, " drew his head downunder the coverlet. "Now you owe me thirty-two, remember, " he shoutedafter me. 

When I came out of the tent, Guskof was walking near the settees; andhis slight figure, with his crooked legs, his shapeless cap, his longwhite hair, kept appearing and disappearing in the darkness, as hepassed in and out of the light of the candles. He made believe not tosee me. 

I handed him the money. He said "Merci, " and, crumpling the bank-bill, thrust it into his trousers pocket. 

"Now I suppose the game is in full swing at the adjutant's, " he beganimmediately after this. 

"Yes, I suppose so. "

"He's a wonderful player, always bold, and never backs out. When he's inluck, it's fine; but when it does not go well with him, he can losefrightfully. He has given proof of that. During this expedition, if youreckon his valuables, he has lost more than fifteen hundred rubles. But, as he played discreetly before, that officer of yours seemed to havesome doubts about his honor. "

"Well, that's because he . . . Nikita, haven't we any of that red Kavkaswine [Footnote: Chikir] left?" I asked, very much enlivened by Guskof'sconversational talent. Nikita still kept muttering; but he brought usthe red wine, and again looked on angrily as Guskof drained his glass. In Guskof's behavior was noticeable his old freedom from constraint. Iwished that he would go as soon as possible; it seemed as if his onlyreason for not going was because he did not wish to go immediately afterreceiving the money. I said nothing. 

"How could you, who have means, and were under no necessity, simply degaiete de coeur, make up your mind to come and serve in the Caucasus?That's what I don't understand, " said he to me. 

I endeavored to explain this act of renunciation, which seemed sostrange to him. 

"I can imagine how disagreeable the society of those officers--menwithout any comprehension of culture--must be for you. You could notunderstand each other. You see, you might live ten years, and not seeanything, and not hear about anything, except cards, wine, and gossipabout rewards and campaigns. "

It was unpleasant for me, that he wished me to put myself on a par withhim in his position; and, with absolute honesty, I assured him that Iwas very fond of cards and wine, and gossip about campaigns, and that Idid not care to have any better comrades than those with whom I wasassociated. But he would not believe me. 

"Well, you may say so, " he continued; "but the lack of women's society, --I mean, of course, FEMMES COMME IL FAUT, --is that not a terribledeprivation? I don't know what I would give now to go into a parlor, ifonly for a moment, and to have a look at a pretty woman, even though itwere through a crack. "

He said nothing for a little, and drank still another glass of the redwine. 

"Oh, my God, my God! [Footnote: AKH, BOZHE MOI, BOZHE MOI. ] If it onlymight be our fate to meet again, somewhere in Petersburg, to live andmove among men, among ladies!"

He drank up the dregs of the wine still left in the bottle, and when hehad finished it he said: "AKH! PARDON, maybe you wanted some more. Itwas horribly careless of me. However, I suppose I must have taken toomuch, and my head isn't very strong. [Footnote: ET JE N'AI PAS LA TETEFORTE. ] There was a time when I lived on Morskaia Street, AU REZ-DE-CHAUSSEE, and had marvellous apartments, furniture, you know, and I wasable to arrange it all beautifully, not so very expensively though; myfather, to be sure, gave me porcelains, flowers, and silver--a wonderfullot. Le matin je sortais, visits, 5 heures regulierement. I used to goand dine with her; often she was alone. Il faut avouer que c'etait unefemme ravissante! You didn't know her at all, did you?"

"No. "

"You see, there was such high degree of womanliness in her, and suchtenderness, and what love! Lord! I did not know how to appreciate myhappiness then. We would return after the theatre, and have a littlesupper together. It was never dull where she was, toujours gaie, toujours aimante. Yes, and I had never imagined what rare happiness itwas. Et j'ai beaucoup a me reprocher in regard to her. Je l'ai faitsouffrir et souvent. I was outrageous. AKH! What a marvellous time thatwas! Do I bore you?"

"No, not at all. "

"Then I will tell you about our evenings. I used to go--that stairway, every flower-pot I knew, --the door-handle, all was so lovely, so familiar;then the vestibule, her room. . . . No, it will never, never comeback to me again! Even now she writes to me: if you will let me, I willshow you her letters. But I am not what I was; I am ruined; I am nolonger worthy of her. . . . Yes, I am ruined for ever. Je suis casse. There's no energy in me, no pride, nothing--nor even any rank. . . . [Footnote: Blagorodstva, noble birth, nobility. ] Yes, I am ruined;and no one will ever appreciate my sufferings. Every one is indifferent. I am a lost man. Never any chance for me to rise, because I have fallenmorally . . . Into the mire--I have fallen. . . . "

At this moment there was evident in his words a genuine, deep despair:he did not look at me, but sat motionless. 

"Why are you in such despair?" I asked. 

"Because I am abominable. This life has degraded me, all that was in me, all is crushed out. It is not by pride that I hold out, but byabjectness: there's no dignite dans le malheur. I am humiliated everymoment; I endure it all; I got myself into this abasement. This mire hassoiled me. I myself have become coarse; I have forgotten what I used toknow; I can't speak French any more; I am conscious that I am base andlow. I cannot tear myself away from these surroundings, indeed I cannot. I might have been a hero: give me a regiment, gold epaulets, atrumpeter, but to march in the ranks with some wild Anton Bondarenko orthe like, and feel that between me and him there was no difference atall--that he might be killed or I might be killed--all the same, thatthought is maddening. You understand how horrible it is to think thatsome ragamuffin may kill me, a man who has thoughts and feelings, andthat it would make no difference if alongside of me some Antonof werekilled, --a being not different from an animal--and that it might easilyhappen that I and not this Antonof were killed, which is always UNEFATALITE for every lofty and good man. I know that they call me acoward: grant that I am a coward, I certainly am a coward, and can't beanything else. Not only am I a coward, but I am in my way a low anddespicable man. Here I have just been borrowing money of you, and youhave the right to despise me. No, take back your money. " And he held outto me the crumpled bank-bill. "I want you to have a good opinion of me. "He covered his face with his hands, and burst into tears. I really didnot know what to say or do. 

"Calm yourself, " I said to him. "You are too sensitive; don't takeeverything so to heart; don't indulge in self-analysis, look at thingsmore simply. You yourself say that you have character. Keep up goodheart, you won't have long to wait, " I said to him, but not veryconsistently, because I was much stirred both by a feeling of sympathyand a feeling of repentance, because I had allowed myself mentally tosin in my judgment of a man truly and deeply unhappy. 

"Yes, " he began, "if I had heard even once, at the time when I was inthat hell, one single word of sympathy, of advice, of friendship--onehumane word such as you have just spoken, perhaps I might have calmlyendured all; perhaps I might have struggled, and been a soldier. But nowthis is horrible. . . . When I think soberly, I long for death. Whyshould I love my despicable life and my own self, now that I am ruined forall that is worth while in the world? And at the least danger, I suddenly, in spite of myself, begin to pray for my miserable life, and to watchover it as though it were precious, and I cannot, je ne puis pas, control myself. That is, I could, " he continued again after a minute'ssilence, "but this is too hard work for me, a monstrous work, when I amalone. With others, under special circumstances, when you are going intoaction, I am brave, j'ai fait mes epreuves, because I am vain and proud:that is my failing, and in presence of others. . . . Do you know, let mespend the night with you: with us, they will play all night long; itmakes no difference, anywhere, on the ground. "

While Nikita was making the bed, we got up, and once more began to walkup and down in the darkness on the battery. Certainly Guskof's head musthave been very weak, because two glasses of liquor and two of wine madehim dizzy. As we got up and moved away from the candles, I noticed thathe again thrust the ten-ruble bill into his pocket, trying to do sowithout my seeing it. During all the foregoing conversation, he had heldit in his hand. He continued to reiterate how he felt that he mightregain his old station if he had a man such as I were to take someinterest in him. 

We were just going into the tent to go to bed when suddenly a cannon-ball whistled over us, and buried itself in the ground not far from us. So strange it was, --that peacefully sleeping camp, our conversation, andsuddenly the hostile cannon-ball which flew from God knows where, themidst of our tents, --so strange that it was some time before I couldrealize what it was. Our sentinel, Andreief, walking up and down on thebattery, moved toward me. 

"Ha! he's crept up to us. It was the fire here that he aimed at, " saidhe. 

"We must rouse the captain, " said I, and gazed at Guskof. 

He stood cowering close to the ground, and stammered, trying to say, "Th-that's th-the ene-my's . . . F-f-fire--th-that's--hidi--. " Further hecould not say a word, and I did not see how and where he disappeared soinstantaneously. 

In the captain's tent a candle gleamed; his cough, which always troubledhim when he was awake, was heard; and he himself soon appeared, askingfor a linstock to light his little pipe. 

"What does this mean, old man?" [Footnote: Batiushka] he asked with asmile. "Aren't they willing to give me a little sleep to-night? Firstit's you with your cashiered friend, and then it's Shamyl. What shall wedo, answer him or not? There was nothing about this in the instructions, was there?"

"Nothing at all. There he goes again, " said I. "Two of them!"

Indeed, in the darkness, directly in front of us, flashed two fires, like two eyes; and quickly over our heads flew one cannon-ball and oneheavy shell. It must have been meant for us, coming with a loud andpenetrating hum. From the neighboring tents the soldiers hastened. Youcould hear them hawking and talking and stretching themselves. 

"Hist! the fuse sings like a nightingale, " was the remark of theartillerist. 

"Send for Nikita, " said the captain with his perpetually benevolentsmile. "Nikita, don't hide yourself, but listen to the mountainnightingales. "

"Well, your honor, " [Footnote: VASHE VUISOKOBLAGORODIE. German, HOCHWOHLGEBORENER, high, well-born; regulation title of officers frommajor to general] said Nikita, who was standing near the captain, "Ihave seen them--these nightingales. I am not afraid of 'em; but here wasthat stranger who was here, he was drinking up your red wine. When heheard how that shot dashed by our tents, and the shell rolled by, hecowered down like some wild beast. "

"However, we must send to the commander of the artillery, " said thecaptain to me, in a serious tone of authority, "and ask whether we shallreply to the fire or not. It will probably be nothing at all, but stillit may. Have the goodness to go and ask him. Have a horse saddled. Do itas quickly as possible, even if you take my Polkan. "

In five minutes they brought me a horse, and I galloped off to thecommander of the artillery. "Look you, return on foot, " whispered thepunctilious captain, "else they won't let you through the lines. "

It was half a verst to the artillery commander's, the whole road ranbetween the tents. As soon as I rode away from our fire, it became soblack that I could not see even the horse's ears, but only the watch-fires, now seeming very near, now very far off, as they gleamed into myeyes. After I had ridden some distance, trusting to the intelligence ofthe horse whom I allowed free rein, I began to distinguish the whitefour-cornered tents and then the black tracks of the road. After a half-hour, having asked my way three times, and twice stumbled over the tent-stakes, causing each time a volley of curses from the tents, and twicebeen detained by the sentinels, I reached the artillery commander's. While I was on the way, I heard two more cannon shot in the direction ofour camp; but the projectiles did not reach to the place where theheadquarters were. The artillery commander ordered not to reply to thefiring, the more as the enemy did not remain in the same place; and Iwent back, leading the horse by the bridle, making my way on footbetween the infantry tents. More than once I delayed my steps, as I wentby some soldier's tent where a light was shining, and some merry-andrewwas telling a story; or I listened to some educated soldier reading fromsome book while the whole division overflowed the tent, or hung aroundit, sometimes interrupting the reading with various remarks; or I simplylistened to the talk about the expedition, about the fatherland, orabout their chiefs. 

As I came around one of the tents of the third battalion, I heardGuskof's rough voice: he was speaking hilariously and rapidly. Youngvoices replied to him, not those of soldiers, but of gay gentlemen. Itwas evidently the tent of some yunker or sergeant-major. I stoppedshort. 

"I've known him a long time, " Guskof was saying. "When I lived inPetersburg, he used to come to my house often; and I went to his. Hemoved in the best society. "

"Whom are you talking about?" asked the drunken voice. 

"About the prince, " said Guskof. "We were relatives, you see, but, morethan all, we were old friends. It's a mighty good thing, you know, gentlemen, to have such an acquaintance. You see he's fearfully rich. Tohim a hundred silver rubles is a mere bagatelle. Here, I just got alittle money out of him, enough to last me till my sister sends. "

"Let's have some. "

"Right away. --Savelitch, my dear, " said Guskof, coming to the door ofthe tent, "here's ten rubles for you: go to the sutler, get two bottlesof Kakhetinski. Anything else, gentlemen? What do you say?" and Guskof, with unsteady gait, with dishevelled hair, without his hat, came out ofthe tent. Throwing open his jacket, and thrusting his hands into thepockets of his trousers, he stood at the door of the tent. Though he wasin the light, and I in darkness; I trembled with fear lest he should seeme, and I went on, trying to make no noise. 

"Who goes there?" shouted Guskof after me in a thoroughly drunken voice. Apparently, the cold took hold of him. "Who the devil is going off withthat horse?"

I made no answer, and silently went on my way.