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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1478fe5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67224 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67224) diff --git a/old/67224-0.txt b/old/67224-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bbac57d..0000000 --- a/old/67224-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2739 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Devil, by Leo Tolstoy - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Devil - -Author: Leo Tolstoy - -Translator: Aylmer Maude - -Release Date: January 22, 2022 [eBook #67224] -Last Updated: August 7, 2023 - -Language: English - -Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues (Images generously made available by - Hathi Trust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEVIL *** - - - - -THE DEVIL - - -BY - - -LEO TOLSTOY - - - - -_Translated by_ - -AYLMER MAUDE - - - - -LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD. -RUSKIN HOUSE, 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.1 - - - - -First published in 1926. - - - - -But I say unto you, that every one that looketh on a woman to lust after -her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. - -And if thy right eye causeth thee to stumble, pluck it out, and cast it -from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should -perish, and not thy whole body be cast into hell. - -And if thy right hand causeth thee to stumble, cut it off, and cast it -from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should -perish, and not thy whole body go into hell. - - - MATTHEW V. 28, 29, 30. - - - - -LIST OF RUSSIAN NAMES - -_With stress-accents marked to show which syllable should be -emphasized._ - -Dómna, a cook in Tolstoy's house. -Leo Tolstóy, the author. -Yásnaya Polyána, his estate. - -Anna Prókhorova, a peasant woman. -Ánnushka, a servant. -Desyatína, a land measure, about 2·7 acres. -Dúmchin, an ex-Marshal of the Nobility. -Eugene Ivánich Irténev (Jénya), a landed-proprietor. -Fëdor Zakhárich Pryánishnikov, a gentleman. -Iván (Ványa), a clerk. -Kabúshka, a mare. -Kalériya Vladímirovna Esípova, a lady. -Koltóvski, an estate. -Liza Ánnenskaya, Eugene's wife. -Mary Pávlovna Irtényeva, Eugene's mother. -Matvéy, a peasant. -Misha, a man-servant. -Nicholas Lysúkh, a servant. -Nikoláy Semënich, a doctor. -Parásha, a servant. -Samókhin, a labourer. -Semënovskoe, a village. -Sídor Péchnikov, a peasant. -Stepanída Péchnikova, Sídor's wife. -Tánya, a girl. -Varára Alexéevna Ánnenskaya, Liza's mother. -Vasíli Nikoláich, a steward. -Vásin, a peasant. -Yálta, a town in the Crimea. -Zémstvo, a Local Government institution. -Zenóvi, a peasant. - - ë is pronounced as _yo_. - - - - -CONTENTS -PREFACE -CHAPTER I -CHAPTER II -CHAPTER III -CHAPTER IV -CHAPTER V -CHAPTER VI -CHAPTER VII -CHAPTER VIII -CHAPTER IX -CHAPTER X -CHAPTER XI -CHAPTER XII -CHAPTER XIII -CHAPTER XIV -CHAPTER XV -CHAPTER XVI -CHAPTER XVII -CHAPTER XVIII -CHAPTER XIX -CHAPTER XX -CHAPTER XXI -VARIATION OF THE CONCLUSION OF _THE DEVIL_ - - - - -PREFACE - - -Towards the end of 1880, when he was fifty-two, Tolstoy one day -approached the young tutor who lived in his house at Yasnaya Polyana, -and in great agitation asked him to do him a service. The tutor, seeing -Tolstoy so moved, asked what he could possibly do for him. In an unready -voice Tolstoy replied: "Save me, I am falling!" The tutor, in alarm, -inquired what was the matter, to which Tolstoy replied: "I am overcome -by sexual desire and feel a complete lack of power to retrain myself. I -am in danger of yielding to the temptation. Help me!" - -"I am a weak man myself," replied the tutor. "How can I help you?" - -"You can, if only you won't refuse!" - -"But what must I do to help you?" - -"This! Come with me on my daily walks. We will go out together and talk, -and the temptation will not occur to me." - -They set out together, and Tolstoy told the tutor how during his daily -walks he had encountered Domna, a young woman of twenty-two who had -recently been engaged as the servants' cook. This Domna was a tall, -healthy, attractive young woman with a fine figure and beautiful -complexion, though not otherwise particularly handsome. At first for -some days he had found it pleasant to watch her. Then he had followed -her and whittled to her. After that he had walked and talked with her, -and at last had arranged a rendezvous with her. The spot was in a -distant alley on the estate; to reach it from the house one had to pass -the windows of the children's schoolroom. When setting out past those -windows next day to keep the appointment, he had gone through a terrible -struggle between the temptation and his conscience. Just then his second -son had called to him through the window, reminding him of a Greek -lesson that had been fixed for that day, and this had detained Tolstoy. -He woke as it were, and was glad to have been saved from keeping the -appointment. But the temptation still tormented him. He tried the effect -of prayer, but it did not free him. He suffered but felt powerless and -as if he might yield at any moment. So as a last resource he resolved to -try the effect of making a full confession to someone--giving all -particulars of the strength of the temptation that oppressed him and of -his own weakness. He wished to feel as thoroughly ashamed of himself as -possible, and he had decided to ask the tutor to accompany him on his -daily walk, which usually he took alone. He also arranged that Domna -should be removed to another place. - -After the danger was over Tolstoy seldom referred to the incident unless -to those who spoke to him of their own sexual difficulties, but on one -occasion he wrote a full account of it to a friend. - -The incident resulted in his writing this story, _The Devil_--the hero -of which yields to a temptation such as that Tolstoy had encountered. It -was composed some ten years later, but was not published during -Tolstoy's lifetime; nor did it appear in the English edition of his -posthumous works issued by Nelson & Sons. It is now translated into -English for the first time. Tolstoy had vividly imagined the -consequences that might have resulted from yielding to the temptation, -and used that mental experience for his story, employing fictitious -characters placed in surroundings with which he was familiar and such as -those amid which the incident had occurred. - -The relations of the sexes in Russian society of his day resembled that -in English society to-day more than in English society of that -period--when, both in literature and in life, repression and suppression -of passion was more common. When in _Kreutzer Sonata_ and in _The Devil_ -he expressed the views he held, Tolstoy was consciously opposing the -current of life around him, and these works also run counter to the -movement of our own society to-day. That however does not detract from -the value of the work. The belief that ill-results follow from the -indulgence of the sexual instincts is not an obsolete eccentricity but a -belief held by many men in many ages, and it receives sufficient -confirmation from experience to make it certain that it is a view which -has to be reckoned with. - -The ancient conception of a bitter strife between the flesh and the -spirit and of woman as the devil's chief agent in achieving man's -spiritual destruction, is alien to the modern outlook, and to-day it is -often not understood how and why men ever held such beliefs; but both in -_The Kreutzer Sonata_ and in this story Tolstoy makes us realize how -easily and naturally men of a certain temperament may come to those -convictions. Without adopting that view one is enabled to realize what -others have felt, and to perceive how probable is a reaction from the -unrestraint of to-day; as happened after the libertinage of the -Restoration period. - -I do not think there is any other important story of Tolstoy's that has -not yet been translated. He left several trunks full of manuscripts, -chiefly early drafts of works that had been published during his -lifetime or commencements of stories he abandoned; but before his death -he expressed the opinion that, except some passages in his Diaries, -there was little or nothing worth publishing among those remains. He was -indeed a great artist, and his mastery showed itself in knowing what to -strike out, omit, and withhold. His published writings are voluminous, -but among them there is little (except perhaps some of the later -repetitions of his non-resistance doctrine) that we could willingly -spare. But if the mass of documents which while he lived he had the good -sense to suppress are now to be published, together with a large amount -of didactic correspondence, it is likely to injure rather than to -enhance his literary reputation. There is a disquieting rumour that this -is to take place, in the form of an edition of his works extending to -one hundred volumes. Not even that calamity will depose him from the -place he securely holds as the greatest and most influential of Russian -writers, but it will be an obstacle rather than a help to those who want -to become acquainted with the works on which he wished his reputation to -rest. The present story is an exception. It is so characteristic of him, -and so closely connected with an event that influenced him, that it -would be a pity for it not to be known, especially as it is one of the -few posthumous works he left in a completed state; even in this case we -do not know which of the two endings he wrote he would have adopted had -he published it himself. - -The foot-notes are by the translator. - - AYLMER MAUDE - -GREAT BADDOW, CHELMSFORD - -_September_ 12, 1925. - - - - -THE DEVIL - - - - -I - - -A brilliant career lay before Eugene Irtenev. He had all that was -necessary for this: an admirable education at home, high honours when he -graduated in law at Petersburg University, connections in the highest -society through his recently deceased father, and he had himself already -begun service in one of the Ministries under the protection of the -Minister. He also had a fortune; even a large one, though insecure. His -father had lived abroad and in Petersburg, allowing his sons, Eugene, -and Andrew, the elder who was in the Horse Guards, 6,000 rubles a year -each, while he himself and his wife spent a great deal. He only used to -visit his estate for a couple of months in summer and did not concern -himself with its direction, entrusting it all to an unscrupulous manager -who also failed to attend to it, but in whom he had complete confidence. - -After the father's death, when the brothers began to divide the -property, there were found to be so many debts that their lawyer even -advised them to refuse the inheritance and retain only an estate left -them by their grand-mother, which was valued at 100,000 rubles. But a -neighbouring landed-proprietor who had done business with old Irtenev, -that is to say, who had promissory notes from him and had come to -Petersburg on that account, said that in spite of the debts they could -straighten out affairs so as to retain a large fortune--it would only be -necessary to sell the forest and some outlying land, retaining the rich -Semënov estate with 4,000 desyatinas of black-earth, the sugar-factory, -and 200 desyatinas of water-meadows--if one devoted oneself to the -management and, settling on the estate, farmed it wisely and -economically. - -And so, having visited the estate in spring (his father had died in -Lent), Eugene looked into everything, resolved to retire from the Civil -Service, settle in the country with his mother, and undertake the -management, with the object of preserving the main estate. He arranged -with his brother, with whom he was very friendly, that he would pay him -4,000 rubles a year, or alternatively would pay him 80,000 in a lump -sum, while Andrew, on his part, handed over to him his share of the -inheritance. - -So he arranged matters and, having settled down with his mother in the -big house, ardently and yet cautiously began managing the estate. - -It is generally supposed that Conservatives are usually old people, and -those in favour of change are the young. That is not quite correct. The -most usual Conservatives are young people: those who want to live but -who do not think, and have not time to think, about how to live and who -therefore take as a model for themselves a way of life that they have -seen. - -Thus it was with Eugene. Having settled in the village, his aim and -ideal was to restore the form of life that had existed, not in his -father's time--his father had been a bad manager--but in his -grandfather's. And now in the house, the garden, in the -estate-management--of course with changes suited to the times--he tried -to resurrect the general spirit of his grandfather's life--everything on -a large scale--good order, method, and everybody satisfied; but so to -arrange things entailed much work. It was necessary to meet the demands -of the creditors and the banks, and for that purpose to sell some land -and arrange renewals of credit. It was also necessary to get money to -carry on (partly by farming out land, and partly by hiring labour) the -immense operations on the Semënov estate, with its 400 desyatinas of -ploughland and its sugar-factory, and to deal with the garden so that it -should not seem to be neglected or in decay. - -There was much work to do, but Eugene had plenty of strength--physical -and mental. He was twenty-six, of medium height, strongly built, with -muscles developed by gymnastics. He was full-blooded and very red over -his whole neck, with bright teeth and lips and hair soft and curly, -though not thick. His only physical defect was shortsightedness, which -he had himself developed by using spectacles, so that he could not now -do without a pince-nez, which had already formed a line at the top of -his nose-ridge. - -Such he was physically. For his spiritual portrait it might be said that -the better anyone knew him the better they liked him. His mother had -always loved him more than she loved anyone else; and now, after her -husband's death, she concentrated on him not only her whole affection -but her whole life. Nor was it only his mother who so loved him. All his -comrades at the high-school and the university not merely liked him very -much, but respected him. He had this effect on all who met him. It was -impossible not to believe what he said, impossible to suspect any -deception or falseness in one who had such an open, honest face and, in -particular, such eyes. - -In general his personality helped him much in his affairs. A creditor -who would have refused another, trusted him. The clerk, the village -Elder, or a peasant, who would have played a dirty trick and cheated -someone else, forgot to deceive under the pleasant impression of -intercourse with this kindly, agreeable, and above all candid man. - -It was the end of May. Eugene had somehow managed, in town, to get the -vacant land freed from the mortgage, so as to sell it to a merchant, and -had borrowed money from that same merchant to replenish his stock, that -is to say, to procure horses, bulls, carts and, chiefly, to begin to -build a necessary farm-house. The matter had been arranged. The timber -was being carted, the carpenters were already at work, and manure for -the estate was being brought on eighty carts. But everything still hung -by a thread. - - - - -II - - -Amid these cares something came about which, though unimportant, -tormented Eugene at the time. As a young man he had lived as all healthy -young men live, that is, he had had relations with women of various -kinds. He was not a libertine but, as he himself said, neither was he a -monk. He only turned to this, however, in so far as was necessary for -physical health and to have his mind free, as he used to say. This had -begun when he was sixteen and had gone on satisfactorily. Satisfactorily -in the sense that he did not give himself up to debauchery, was not once -infatuated, and had never contracted a disease. At first he had a -seamstress in Petersburg, then she got spoilt and he made other -arrangements, and that side of his affairs was so well secured that it -did not trouble him. - -But now he was living in the country for the second month and did not at -all know what he was to do. Compulsory self-restraint was beginning to -have a bad effect on him. - -Must he really go to town for that purpose? And where to? How? That was -the only thing that disturbed Eugene Ivanich, but as he was convinced -that the thing was necessary and that he needed it, it really became -necessary, and he felt that he was not free and that involuntarily his -eyes followed every young woman. - -He did not approve of having relations with a married woman or a maid in -his own village. He knew by report that both his father and grandfather -had been quite different in this matter from other land-owners of that -time. At home they had never had any entanglements with peasant-women, -and he had decided that he would not do so either; but afterwards, -feeling himself ever more and more under compulsion, and imagining with -horror what might happen to him in the neighbouring country town, and -reflecting on the fact that the days of serfdom were now over, he -decided that it might be done on the spot. Only it must be done so that -no one should know of it, and not for the sake of debauchery but merely -for health's sake--as he said to himself. And when he had decided this -he became still more restless. When talking to the village Elder, the -peasants, or the carpenters, he involuntarily brought the conversation -round to women, and when it turned to women, he kept it on that theme. -He noticed the women more and more. - - - - -III - - -To settle the matter in his own mind was one thing, but to carry it out -was another. To approach a woman himself was impossible. Which one? -Where? It must be done through someone else, but to whom should he speak -about it? - -He happened to go into a watchman's hut in the forest to get a drink of -water. The watchman had been his father's huntsman. Eugene Ivanich -chatted with him, and the watchman began telling some strange tales of -hunting sprees. It occurred to Eugene Ivanich that it would be -convenient to arrange matters in this hut, or in the wood. Only he did -not know how to manage it, and whether old Daniel would undertake the -arrangement. "Perhaps he will be horrified at such a proposal; and I -shall have disgraced myself, but perhaps he would agree to it quite -simply." So he thought while listening to Daniel's stories. Daniel was -telling how once when they had been stopping at the hut of the sexton's -wife in an outlying field, he had brought a woman for Fëdor Zakharich -Pryanishnikov. - -"It will be all right," thought Eugene. - -"Your father, may the kingdom of heaven be his, did not go in for -nonsense of that kind." - -"It won't do," thought Eugene. But to test the matter he said: "How was -it you engaged on such bad things?" - -"But what is there bad in it? She was glad of it, and Fëdor Zakharich -was satisfied, very satisfied. I got a ruble. Why, what was he to do? He -too is a lively limb, apparently, and drinks wine." - -"Yes, I may speak," thought Eugene, and at once proceeded to do so. - -"And, do you know, Daniel, I don't know how to endure it,"--he felt -himself going scarlet. - -Daniel smiled. - -"I am not a monk,--I have been accustomed to it." - -He felt that what he was saying was stupid, but was glad to see that -Daniel approved. - -"Why of course, you should have told me long ago. It can all be -arranged," said he: "Only tell me which one you want." - -"Oh, it is really all the same to me. Of course not an ugly one, and she -must be healthy." - -"I understand!" said Daniel briefly. He reflected. - -"Ah! There is a tasty morsel," he began. Again Eugene went red. "A tasty -morsel. See here, she was married last autumn." Daniel whispered,--"and -he hasn't been able to do anything. Think what that is worth to one who -wants it!" - -Eugene even frowned with shame. - -"No, no," he said. "I don't want that at all. I want, on the contrary -(what could the contrary be?), on the contrary I only want that she -should be healthy and that there should be as little fuss as possible--a -woman whose husband is away in the army, or something of that kind." - -"I know. It's Stepanida I must bring you. Her husband is away in town, -just the same as a soldier. And she is a fine woman, and clean. You will -be satisfied. As it is I was saying to her the other day--you should go, -but she . . ." - -"Well then, when is it to be?" - -"To-morrow if you like. I shall be going to get some tobacco and I will -call in, and at the dinner-hour come here, or to the bath-house behind -the kitchen garden. There will be nobody about. Besides after dinner -everybody takes a nap." - -"All right, then." - -A terrible excitement seized Eugene as he rode home. "What will happen? -What is a peasant woman like? Suppose it turns out that she is hideous, -horrible. No, she is handsome," he told himself, remembering some he had -been noticing. "But what shall I say? What shall I do?" - -He was not himself all that day. Next day at noon he went to the -forester's hut. Daniel stood at the door and silently and significantly -nodded towards the wood. The blood rushed to Eugene's heart, he was -conscious of it and went to the kitchen-garden. No one was there. He -went to the bath-house--there was no one about, he looked in, came out, -and suddenly heard the crackling of a breaking twig. He looked -round--and she was standing in the thicket beyond the little ravine. He -rushed there across the ravine. There were nettles in it which he had -not noticed. They stung him and, losing the pince-nez from his nose, he -ran up the slope on the farther side. In a white embroidered apron, in a -red-brown skirt and a bright red kerchief, barefoot, fresh, firm, and -handsome, she stood shyly smiling. - -"There is a path leading round,--you should have gone round," she said. -"I came long ago, ever so long." - -He went up to her and, looking her over, touched her. - -A quarter of an hour later they separated; he found his pince-nez, -called in to see Daniel, and in reply to his question: "Are you -satisfied, master?" gave him a ruble and went home. - -He was satisfied. Only at first had he felt ashamed, then it had passed -off. And it had all gone well. The best thing was that he now felt at -ease, tranquil and vigorous. As for her, he had not even seen her -thoroughly. He remembered that she was clean, fresh, not bad-looking, -and simple, without any pretence. "Whose wife is she?" said he to -himself. "Pechnikov's, Daniel said. What Pechnikov is that? There are -two households of that name. Probably she is old Michael's -daughter-in-law. Yes, that must be it. His son does live in Moscow. I'll -ask Daniel about it some time." - -From then onward that previously important drawback to country -life--enforced self-restraint--was eliminated. Eugene's freedom of mind -was no longer disturbed and he was able to attend freely to his affairs. - -And the matter Eugene had undertaken was far from easy: it sometimes -seemed to him that he would not be able to go through with it, and that -it would end in his having to sell the estate after all, so that all his -efforts would be wasted and it would turn out that he had failed, and -been unable to accomplish what he had undertaken. That prospect -disturbed him most of all. Before he had time to stop up one hole a new -one would unexpectedly show itself. - -All this time more and more debts of his father's, which he had not -expected, came to light. It was evident that his father had latterly -borrowed right and left. At the time of the settlement in May, Eugene -had thought he at last knew everything, but suddenly, in the middle of -the summer, he received a letter from which it appeared that there was -still a debt of 12,000 rubles to the widow Esipova. There was no -promissory note, but only an ordinary receipt, which his lawyer told him -could be disputed. But it did not enter Eugene's head to refuse to pay a -debt of his father's merely because the document could be challenged. He -only wanted to know for certain whether there had been such a debt. - -"Mamma! Who is Kaleriya Vladimirovna Esipova?" he asked his mother, when -they met as usual for dinner. - -"Esipova? She was brought up by your grandfather. Why?" - -Eugene told his mother about the letter. - -"I wonder she is not ashamed to ask for it. Your father gave her so -much!" - -"But do we owe her this?" - -"Well now, how shall I say? It is not a debt. Papa, out of his unbounded -kindness . . ." - -"Yes, but did Papa consider it a debt?" - -"I cannot say. I don't know. I only know it is hard enough for you -without that." - -Eugene saw that Mary Pavlovna did not know what to say, and was as it -were sounding him. - -"I see from what you say, that it must be paid," said the son. "I will -go to see her to-morrow and have a chat, and see if it cannot be -deferred." - -"Ah, how sorry I am for you, but, you know, that will be best. Tell her -she must wait," said Mary Pavlovna, evidently tranquillized and proud of -her son's decision. - -Eugene's position was particularly hard because his mother, who was -living with him, did not at all realize his position. She had been so -accustomed all her life long to live extravagantly that she could not -even imagine to herself the position her son was in, that is to say, -that to-day or to-morrow matters might shape themselves so that they -would have nothing left, and he would have to sell everything, and live -and support his mother on what salary he could earn, which at the very -most would be 2,000 rubles. She did not understand that they could only -save themselves from that position by cutting down expense in -everything, and so she could not understand why Eugene was so careful -about trifles, in expenditure on gardeners, coachmen, servants--even on -food. Also, like most widows, she nourished feelings of devotion to the -memory of her departed spouse quite different from those she had felt -for him while he lived, and she did not admit the thought that what the -departed had done, or had arranged, could be wrong or could be altered. - -Eugene by great efforts managed to keep up the garden and the -conservatory with two gardeners, and the stables with two coachmen. And -Mary Pavlovna naïvely thought that she was sacrificing herself for her -son and doing all a mother could do, by not complaining of the food -which the old man-cook prepared, of the fact that the paths in the park -were not all swept clean, and that instead of footmen they had only a -boy. - -So, too, concerning this new debt, in which Eugene saw an almost -crushing blow to all his undertakings, Mary Pavlovna only saw an -incident displaying Eugene's noble nature. - -Mary Pavlovna moreover did not feel much anxiety about Eugene's -position, because she was confident that he would make a brilliant -marriage which would put everything right. And he could make a very -brilliant marriage: she knew a dozen families who would be glad to give -their daughters to him. And she wished to arrange the matter as soon as -possible. - - - - -IV - - -Eugene himself dreamt of marriage, but not in the same way as his -mother. The idea of using marriage as a means of putting his affairs in -order was repulsive to him. He wished to marry honourably, for love. He -observed the girls whom he met and those he knew, and compared himself -with them, but no decision had yet been taken. Meanwhile contrary to his -expectations his relations with Stepanida continued, and even acquired -the character of a settled affair. Eugene was so far from debauchery, it -was so hard for him secretly to do this thing which he felt to be bad, -that he could not arrange these meetings himself, and even after the -first one hoped not to see Stepanida again; but it turned out that after -some time the same restlessness (due, he believed, to that cause) again -overcame him. And his restlessness this time was no longer impersonal, -but suggested just those same bright, black eyes, and that deep voice, -saying, "ever so long," that same scent of something fresh and strong, -and that same full bread lifting the bib of her apron, and all this in -that hazel and maple thicket, bathed in bright sunlight. - -Though he felt ashamed, he again approached Daniel. And again a -rendezvous was fixed for midday, in the wood. This time Eugene looked -her over more carefully, and everything about her seemed attractive. He -tried talking to her, and asked about her husband. He really was -Michael's son, and lived as a coachman in Moscow. - -"Well, then, how is it you . . ." Eugene wanted to ask how it was she -was untrue to him. - -"What about 'how is it'?" asked she. Evidently she was clever and -quick-witted. - -"Well, how is it you come to me?" - -"There now," said she merrily. "I bet he goes on the spree there. Why -shouldn't I?" - -Evidently she was putting on an air of sauciness and assurance. And this -seemed charming to Eugene. But all the same he did not himself fix a -rendezvous with her. Even when she proposed that they should meet -without the aid of Daniel, to whom she seemed not very well-disposed, -Eugene did not consent. He hoped that this meeting would be the last. He -liked her. He thought such intercourse was necessary for him and that -there was nothing bad about it, but in the depth of his soul there was a -stricter judge, who did not approve of it and hoped that this would be -the last time, or if he did not hope that, at any rate did not wish to -participate in arrangements to repeat it another time. - -So the whole summer passed, during which they met a dozen times and -always by Daniel's help. It happened once that she could not be there -because her husband had come home, and Daniel proposed another woman, -but Eugene refused with disgust. Then the husband went away, and the -meetings continued as before, at first through Daniel, but afterwards he -simply fixed the time and she came with another woman, Prokhorova--as it -would not do for a peasant-woman to go about alone. - -Once at the very time fixed for the rendezvous a family came to call on -Mary Pavlovna, with the very girl she wished Eugene to marry, and it was -impossible for Eugene to get away. As soon as he could do so, he went -out as though to the thrashing-floor, and round by the path to their -meeting-place in the wood. She was not there, but at the accustomed spot -everything within reach of one's hand had been broken--the black alder, -the hazel-twigs, and even a young maple the thickness of a stake. She -had waited, had become excited and angry, and had skittishly left him a -remembrance. He waited, waited, and went to Daniel to ask him to call -her for to-morrow. She came, and was just as usual. - -So the summer passed. The meetings were always arranged in the wood, and -only once, when it grew towards autumn, in the shed that stood in her -back-yard. - -It did not enter Eugene's head that these relations of his had any -importance for him. About her he did not even think. He gave her money -and nothing more. At first he did not know and did not think that the -affair was known and she was envied throughout the village, or that her -relations took money from her and encouraged her, and that her -conception of any sin in the matter had been quite obliterated by the -influence of the money and her family's approval. It seemed to her that -if people envied her, then what she was doing was good. - -"It is simply necessary for one's health," thought Eugene. "I grant it -is not right, and though no one says anything, everybody, or many -people, know of it. The woman who comes with her knows. And once she -knows, she is sure to have told others. But what's to be done? I am -acting badly," thought Eugene, "but what's one to do? Anyhow it is not -for long." - -What chiefly disturbed Eugene was the thought of the husband. At first, -for some reason, it seemed to him that the husband must be a poor sort, -and this, as it were, partly justified his conduct. But he saw the -husband and was struck: he was a fine fellow and smartly dressed, in no -way a worse man, but surely better, than himself. At their next meeting -he told her he had seen her husband and had been surprised to see that -he was such a fine fellow. - -"There's not such another in the village," said she proudly. - -This surprised Eugene. The thought of the husband tormented him still -more after that. He happened to be at Daniel's one day and Daniel, -having begun chatting, plainly said to him: - -"And Michael, the other day, asked me: 'Is it true that the master is -living with my wife?' I said I did not know. Anyway, I said, better with -the master than with a peasant." - -"Well, and what did he say?" - -"He said,--'Wait a bit. I'll get to know, and I'll give it her all the -same.'" - -"Yes, if the husband returned to live here, I would give her up," -thought Eugene. - -But the husband lived in town and for the present their intercourse -continued. - -"When necessary, I will break it off, and there will be nothing left of -it," thought he. - -And this seemed to him certain, especially as during the whole summer -many different things occupied him very fully: the erection of the new -farm-house, and the harvest, and building, and above all meeting the -debts and selling the waste land. All these were affairs that completely -absorbed him and on which he spent his thoughts when he lay down and -when he rose. All that was, real life. His intercourse--he did not even -call it connection--with Stepanida was something quite unnoticed. It is -true that when the wish to see her arose, it came with such strength -that he could think of nothing else. But this did not last long. A -meeting was arranged, and he again forgot her for a week or even for a -month. - -In autumn Eugene often rode to town, and there became friendly with the -Annenskis. They had a daughter who had just finished the Institute.[1] -And then, to Mary Pavlovna's great grief, it happened that Eugene, as -she expressed it, "cheapened himself,"--by falling in love with Liza -Annenskaya and proposing to her. - -From that time the relations with Stepanida ceased. - - -[Footnote 1: The Institute was a boarding-school for the daughters of -the nobility and gentry, in which great attention was paid to the -manners and accomplishments of the pupils.] - - - - -V - - -It is impossible to explain why Eugene chose Liza Annenskaya, as it is -never possible to explain why a man chooses this and not that woman. -There were many reasons--positive and negative. One reason was that she -was not a very rich heiress such as his mother sought for him, another -that she was naïve and to be pitied in her relations with her mother, -then there was the fact that she was not a beauty who attracted general -attention to herself, but yet was not bad looking. The chief reason was -that his acquaintance with her began at the time when Eugene was ripe -for marriage. He fell in love because he knew that he would marry. - -Liza Annenskaya was at first merely pleasing to Eugene, but when he -decided to make her his wife, his feelings for her became much stronger. -He felt that he was in love. - -Liza was tall, slender, and long. Everything about her was long; her -face, and her nose--not prominently but downwards--and her fingers, and -her feet. The colour of her face was very delicate, yellowish white and -delicately pink; her hair was long, light brown, soft, curly, and she -had beautiful, clear, mild, confiding eyes. Those eyes especially struck -Eugene. And when he thought of Liza he always saw those clear, mild, -confiding eyes. - -Such was she physically; spiritually he knew nothing of her, but only -saw those eyes. And those eyes seemed to tell him all he needed to know. -The meaning of those eyes was this: - -While still in the Institute, when she was fifteen, Liza used -continually to fall in love with all attractive men and was animated and -happy only when she was in love. After leaving the Institute she -continued to fall in love, in just the same way, with all the young men -she met, and of course fell in love with Eugene as soon as she made his -acquaintance. It was this being in love which gave her eyes that -particular expression which so captivated Eugene. Already that winter -she had been, at one and the same time, in love with two young men, and -blushed and became excited not only when they entered the room but -whenever their names were mentioned. But afterwards, when her mother -hinted to her that Irtenev seemed to have serious intentions, her love -for him increased so that she became almost indifferent to the two -previous attractions, and when Irtenev began to come to their balls and -parties, and danced with her more than with others and evidently only -wished to know whether she loved him, her love for him became painful. -She dreamed of him in her sleep and seemed to see him when she was awake -in a dark room, and everyone else vanished from her mind. But when he -proposed and they were formally engaged, and when they had kissed one -another and were a betrothed couple, then she had no thoughts but of -him, no desire but to be with him, to love him, and to be loved by him. -She was also proud of him and felt emotional about him and herself and -her love, and quite melted and felt faint from love of him. - -The more he got to know her the more he loved her. He had not at all -expected to find such love, and it strengthened his own feeling still -more. - - - - -VI - - -Towards spring he went to his estate at Semënovskoe to have a look at -it and to give directions about the management, and especially about the -house which was being done up for his wedding. - -Mary Pavlovna was dissatisfied with her son's choice, not only because -the match was not as brilliant as it might have been, but also because -she did not like Varvara Alexeevna, his future mother-in-law. Whether -she was good-natured or not she did not know and could not decide, but -that she was not well-bred, not _comme il faut_, "not a lady" as Mary -Pavlovna said to herself,--she saw from their first acquaintance, and -this distressed her; distressed her because she was accustomed to value -breeding and knew that Eugene was sensitive to it, and she foresaw that -he would suffer much annoyance on this account. But she liked the girl. -Liked her chiefly because Eugene did. One could not help loving her. And -Mary Pavlovna was quite sincerely ready to do so. - -Eugene found his mother contented and in good spirits. She was getting -everything straight in the house and preparing to go away herself as -soon as he brought his young wife. Eugene persuaded her to stay for the -time being, and the future remained undecided. - -In the evening after tea Mary Pavlovna played patience as usual. Eugene -sat by, helping her. This was the hour of their most intimate talks. -Having finished one game of patience and while preparing to begin -another, Mary Pavlovna looked up at Eugene and, with a little -hesitation, began thus: - -"I wanted to tell you, Jenya,--of course I do not know, but in general I -wanted to suggest to you that before your wedding it is absolutely -necessary to have finished with all your bachelor affairs, so that -nothing may disturb either you or your wife. God forbid that it should. -You understand me?" - -And indeed Eugene at once understood that Mary Pavlovna was hinting at -his relations with Stepanida which had ended in the previous autumn; and -that she attributed much more importance to those relations than they -deserved, as single women always do. Eugene blushed, and not from shame -so much as from vexation that good-natured Mary Pavlovna was -bothering--out of affection no doubt--but still was bothering about -matters that were not her business and that she did not and could not -understand. He answered that he had nothing that needed concealment, and -that he had always conducted himself so that there should be nothing to -hinder his marrying. - -"Well, dear, that is excellent. Only, Jenya, don't be vexed with me," -said Mary Pavlovna, in confusion. - -But Eugene saw that she had not finished and had not said what she -wanted to. So it appeared when a little later she began to tell him of -how, in his absence, she had been asked to stand godmother at . . . the -Pechnikovs. - -Eugene flushed now, not with vexation or shame, but with some strange -consciousness of the importance of what was about to be told him--an -involuntary consciousness quite at variance with his conclusions. And -what he expected happened. Mary Pavlovna, as if merely by way of -conversation, mentioned that this year only boys were being -born,--evidently a sign of a coming war. Both at the Vasins and the -Pechnikovs the young wife had a first child--at each house a boy. Mary -Pavlovna wanted to say this casually, but she herself felt ashamed when -she saw the colour mount to her son's face and saw him nervously -removing, tapping, and replacing his pince-nez and hurriedly lighting a -cigarette. She became silent. He too was silent and could not think how -to break that silence. So they both understood that they had understood -one another. - -"Yes, the chief thing is that there should be justice and no favouritism -in the village,--as under your grandfather." - -"Mamma,"--said Eugene suddenly,--"I know why you are saying this. You -have no need to be disturbed. My future family-life is so sacred to me -that I should not infringe it in any case. And as to what occurred in my -bachelor days, that is quite ended. I never formed any union and no one -has any claims on me." - -"Well, I am glad," said his mother. "I know how noble your feelings -are." - -Eugene accepted his mother's words as a tribute due to him, and did not -reply. - -Next day he drove to town thinking of his fiancée and of anything in -the world except of Stepanida. But, as if purposely to remind him, on -approaching the church he met people walking and driving back from it. -He met old Matvey with Simon, some lads and girls, and then two women, -one elderly, the other smartly dressed with a bright red kerchief, who -seemed familiar. The woman was walking lightly, boldly, carrying a child -in her arms. He came up to them, the elder woman bowed, stopping in the -old-fashioned way, but the young woman with the child only bent her -head, and from under the kerchief gleamed familiar, merry, smiling eyes. - -Yes, this was she, but all was over and it was no use looking at her: -"and the child may be mine," flashed through his mind. No, what -nonsense! There was her husband, she used to see him. He did not even -consider the matter further, so settled in his mind was it that it had -been necessary for his health,--he had paid her money and there was no -more to be said; there was, there had been, and there could be, no -question of any union between them. It was not that he stifled the voice -of conscience, no--his conscience simply said nothing to him. And he -thought no more about her after the conversation with his mother and -after this meeting. Nor did he meet her again. - -Eugene was married in town the week after Easter, and left at once with -his young wife for his country estate. The house had been arranged as -usual for a young couple. Mary Pavlovna wished to leave, but Eugene and -still more strongly Liza begged her to remain, and she only moved into a -detached wing of the house. - -And so a new life began for Eugene. - - - - -VII - - -The first year of his marriage was a hard one for Eugene. It was hard -because affairs he had managed to put off during the time of his -courtship now, after his marriage, all came upon him at once. - -To escape from debts was impossible. An outlying part of the estate was -sold and the most pressing obligations met, but others remained, and he -had no money. The estate yielded a good revenue, but he had had to send -payments to his brother, and to spend on his own marriage, so that there -was no ready money and the factory could not carry on and would have to -be closed down. The only way of escape was to use his wife's money. -Liza, having realized her husband's position, insisted on this herself. -Eugene agreed, but only on condition that he should give her a mortgage -on half his estate; and this he did. Of course it was not for the sake -of his wife, who felt offended at it, but to appease his mother-in-law. - -These affairs, with various fluctuations of success and failure, helped -to poison Eugene's life that first year. Another thing was his wife's -ill-health. That same first year, seven months after their marriage, in -autumn, a misfortune befell Liza. She drove out to meet her husband who -was returning from town; the quiet horse became rather playful, and she -was frightened and jumped out. Her jump was comparatively fortunate--she -might have been caught by the wheel--but she was pregnant, and that same -night the pains began and she had a miscarriage from which she was long -in recovering. The loss of the expected child and his wife's illness, -together with the disorder in his affairs, and above all the presence of -his mother-in-law, who arrived as soon as Liza fell ill--all this -together made the year still harder for Eugene. - -But notwithstanding these difficult circumstances, towards the end of -the first year Eugene felt very well. First of all his cherished hope of -restoring his fallen fortune and renewing his grandfather's way of life -in a new form, was approaching accomplishment, though slowly and with -difficulty. There was no longer any question of having to sell the whole -estate to meet the debts. The chief estate, though transferred to his -wife's name, was saved, and if only the beet crop succeeded and the -price kept up, by next year his position of want and stress might be -replaced by one of complete prosperity. That was one thing. - -Another was that however much he had expected from his wife, he had -never expected to find in her what he actually found. It was not what he -had expected, but it was much better. Emotion, raptures of love--though -he tried to produce them--did not take place or were very slight, but -something quite different appeared, namely, that he was not merely more -cheerful and happier but that it became easier to live. He did not know -why this should be so, but it was. - -It happened because immediately after the marriage she decided that -Eugene Irtenev was superior to, wiser, purer, and nobler than, anyone -else in the world, and therefore it was right for everyone to serve him -and do what would please him; but as it was impossible to make everyone -do this, she to the limit of her strength must do it herself. So she -did; and therefore all her strength of mind was directed towards -learning and guessing what he liked, and then doing just that, whatever -it was and however difficult it might be. - -She had the gift which furnishes the chief delight of intercourse with a -loving woman; thanks to her love of her husband she penetrated into his -soul. She knew--better it seemed to him than he himself--his every -state, and every shade of his feeling, and she behaved correspondingly, -and therefore never hurt his feelings, but always lessened his -distresses and strengthened his joys. And she understood not only his -feelings but also his joys. Things quite foreign to her--concerning the -farming, the factory, or the appraisement of others, she immediately -understood so that she could not merely converse with him, but could -often, as he himself said, be a useful and irreplaceable counsellor. She -regarded affairs and people, and everything in the world, only through -his eyes. She loved her mother, but having seen that Eugene disliked his -mother-in-law's interference in their life she immediately took her -husband's side, and did so with such decision that he had to restrain -her. - -Besides all this she had very much taste, tact, and above all, -peacefulness. All that she did, she did unnoticed; only the results of -what she did were observable, namely, that always and in everything -there was cleanliness, order, and elegance. Liza had at once understood -in what her husband's ideal of life consisted, and she tried to attain, -and in the arrangement and order of the house did attain, what he -wanted. Children, it is true, were lacking, but there was hope of this -also. In winter she went to Petersburg to see a specialist, and he -assured them that she was quite well and could have children. - -And this desire was accomplished. By the end of the year she was again -pregnant. - -The one thing that threatened, not to say poisoned, their happiness was -her jealousy; a jealousy she restrained and did not exhibit, but from -which she often suffered. Not only might Eugene not love anyone--because -there was not a woman on earth worthy of him (as to whether she herself -was worthy or not, she never asked herself),--but not a single woman -might, therefore, dare to love him. - - - - -VIII - - -They lived thus: he rose, as he always had done, early, and went to see -to the farm or the factory, where work was going on, or sometimes to the -fields. Towards ten o'clock he would come back to his coffee: they had -it on the verandah, Mary Pavlovna, an uncle who lived with them, and -Liza. After a conversation which was often very animated while they -drank their coffee, they dispersed till dinner-time. At two o'clock they -dined and then went for a walk, or a drive. In the evening when he -returned from his office they drank their evening tea, and sometimes he -read aloud while she worked, or when there were guests they had music or -talked. When he went away on business he wrote to his wife, and received -letters from her, every day. Sometimes she accompanied him, and then -they were particularly merry. On his name-day and on hers guests -assembled, and it was pleasant to him to see how well she managed to -arrange things so that it was pleasant for everybody. He saw, and heard -also, that they all admired her, the young, agreeable hostess, and he -loved her still more for this. - -All went excellently. She bore her pregnancy easily, and though they -were afraid, they both began making plans as to how they would bring the -child up. The system of education and the arrangements were all decided -by Eugene, and her only wish was obediently to carry out his desires. -Eugene on his part read up medical works, and intended to bring the -child up according to all the precepts of science. She, of course, -agreed to everything and made preparations, making warm and also cool -"envelopes,"[2] and preparing a cradle. Thus the second year of their -marriage arrived, and the second spring. - - -[Footnote 2: An "envelope" was a small mattress with attached -coverlet, on which babies were carried about.] - - - - -IX - - -It was just before Trinity Sunday. Liza was in her fifth month, and, -though careful, she was brisk and active. Both the mothers, his and -hers, were living in the house, but under pretext of watching and -safeguarding her only upset her by their tiffs. Eugene was specially -engrossed with a new experiment for the cultivation of sugar-beet on a -large scale. - -Just before Trinity Liza decided that it was necessary to have a -thorough house-cleaning, as it had not been done since Easter, and she -hired two women by the day, to help the servants wash the floors and -windows, beat the furniture and the carpets, and put covers on them. The -women came early in the morning, heated the coppers, and set to work. -One of the two was Stepanida, who had just weaned her baby boy. Through -the office-clerk--whom she now carried on with--she had begged for the -job of washing the floors. She wanted to have a good look at the new -mistress. Stepanida was living by herself, as formerly, her husband -being away, and she was up to tricks, as she had formerly been first -with old Daniel (who had once caught her taking some logs of firewood), -afterwards with the master, and now with the young clerk. She was not -concerning herself any longer about her master. "He has a wife now," she -thought. But it would be good to have a look at the lady and at her -establishment: folk said it was well arranged. - -Eugene had not seen her since he had met her with the child. Having a -baby to attend to she had not been going out to work, and he seldom -walked through the village. That morning, on the eve of Trinity Sunday, -Eugene rose at five o'clock and rode to the fallow land which was to be -sprinkled with phosphates, and he left the house before the women were -about it, and while they were still engaged lighting the copper fires. - -Merry, contented, and hungry, Eugene returned to breakfast. He -dismounted from his mare at the gate and handed her over to the -gardener. Flicking the high grass with his whip and repeating, as one -often does, a phrase he had just uttered, he walked towards the house. -The phrase he repeated was: "phosphates justify"--what or to whom he -neither knew nor reflected. - -They were beating a carpet on the grass. The furniture had been brought -out. - -"There now! What a house-cleaning Liza has undertaken! . . . Phosphates -justify. . . . What a manageress she is! A manageress! Yes, a -manageress," said he to himself, vividly imagining her in her white -wrapper and with her smiling joyful face, as it nearly always was when -he looked at her. "Yes, I must change my boots, or else 'phosphates -justify,' that is, smell of manure, and the manageress is in such a -condition. Why 'in such a condition'? Because a new little Irtenev is -growing there inside her," he thought. "Yes, phosphates justify," and -smiling at his thoughts he put his hand to the door of his room. - -But he had not time to push the door before it opened of itself and he -met, face to face, a woman coming towards him carrying a pail, barefoot, -and with sleeves turned up high. He stepped aside to let her pass, she -too stepped aside, adjusting her kerchief with a wet hand. - -"Go on, go on, I won't go there, if you . . ." began Eugene and, -suddenly, recognizing her, stopped. - -She glanced merrily at him with smiling eyes, and pulling down her skirt -went out by the door. - -"What nonsense! . . . It is impossible," said Eugene to himself, -frowning and waving his hand as though to get rid of a fly, displeased -at having noticed her. He was vexed that he had noticed her and yet he -could not take his eyes from her strong body, swayed by the agile -strides of her bare feet, or from her arms, shoulders, and the pleasing -folds of her shirt and handsome skirt, tucked up high above her white -calves. - -"But why am I looking?" said he to himself, lowering his eyes so as not -to see her. "But anyhow I must go in to get some other boots." And he -turned back to go into his own room, but had not gone five steps before, -without knowing why or wherefore, he again glanced round to have another -look at her. She was just going round the corner and also glanced at -him. - -"Ah, what am I doing!" said he to himself. "She may think . . . It is -even certain that she already does think . . ." - -He entered his damp room. Another woman, an old and skinny one, was -there, and was still washing it. Eugene passed on tiptoe across the -floor wet with dirty water to the wall where his boots stood, and he was -about to leave the room, when the woman herself went out. - -"This one has gone and the other, Stepanida, will come here alone," -someone within him began to reflect. - -"My God, what am I thinking of and what am I doing!" He seized his boots -and ran out with them into the hall, put them on there, brushed himself, -and went out on to the verandah where both the mammas were already -drinking coffee. Liza had evidently been expecting him and came on to -the verandah through another door at the same time. - -"My God! If she, who considers me so honourable, pure, and innocent,--if -she only knew!"--thought he. - -Liza, as usual, met him with shining face. But to-day somehow she seemed -to him particularly pale, yellow, long, and weak. - - - - -X - - -During coffee, as often happened, a peculiarly feminine kind of -conversation went on which had no logical sequence, but which evidently -was connected in some way for it went on uninterruptedly. - -The two old ladies were pin-pricking one another, and Liza was skilfully -manœuvring between them. - -"I am so vexed that we had not finished washing your room before you got -back," she said to her husband. "But I do so want to get everything -arranged." - -"Well, did you sleep well after I got up?" - -"Yes, I slept well, and I feel well." - -"How can a woman be well in her condition during this intolerable heat, -when her windows face the sun," said Varvara Alexeevna, her mother. "And -they have no venetian-blinds or awnings. I always had awnings." - -"But you know we are in the shade after ten o'clock," said Mary -Pavlovna. - -"That's what causes fever; it comes of dampness," said Varvara -Alexeevna, not noticing that what she was saying did not agree with what -she had just said. "My doctor always says that it is impossible to -diagnose an illness unless one knows the patient. And he certainly -knows, for he is the leading physician and we pay him a hundred rubles a -visit. My late husband did not believe in doctors, but he did not grudge -me anything." - -"How can a man grudge anything to a woman when perhaps her life and the -child's depend . . ." - -"Yes, when she has means, a wife need not depend on her husband. A good -wife submits to her husband," said Varvara Alexeevna,--"only Liza is too -weak after her illness." - -"Oh no, mamma, I feel quite well. But why have they not brought you any -boiled cream?" - -"I don't want any. I can do with raw cream." - -"I offered some to Varvara Alexeevna, but she declined," said Mary -Pavlovna, as if justifying herself. - -"No, I don't want any to-day." And as if to terminate an unpleasant -conversation and yield magnanimously, Varvara Alexeevna turned to Eugene -and said: "Well, and have you sprinkled the phosphates?" - -Liza ran to fetch the cream. - -"But I don't want it. I don't want it." - -"Liza, Liza, go gently,"--said Mary Pavlovna. "Such rapid movements do -her harm." - -"Nothing does harm, if one's mind is at peace," said Varvara Alexeevna -as if referring to something, though she knew that there was nothing -that her words could refer to. - -Liza returned with the cream, Eugene drank his coffee and listened -morosely. He was accustomed to these conversations, but to-day he was -particularly annoyed by its lack of sense. He wanted to think over what -had happened to him, but this chatter disturbed him. Having finished her -coffee Varvara Alexeevna went away in a bad humour. Liza, Eugene, and -Mary Pavlovna stayed behind, and their conversation was simple and -pleasant. But Liza, being sensitive, at once noticed that something was -tormenting Eugene, and she asked him whether anything unpleasant had -happened. He was not prepared for this question, and hesitated a little -before replying that there had been nothing unpleasant. And this reply -made Liza think all the more; that something was tormenting, and greatly -tormenting, him was as evident to her as the fact that a fly had fallen -into the milk, yet he did not speak of it. What could it be? - - - - -XI - - -After breakfast they all dispersed. Eugene as usual went to his study. -He did not begin reading or writing his letters, but sat smoking one -cigarette after another and thinking. He was terribly surprised and -disturbed by the expected recrudescence within him of the bad feeling -from which he had thought himself free since his marriage. Since then he -had not once experienced that feeling, either for her--the woman he had -known--or for any other woman except his wife. He had often felt glad of -this emancipation, and now suddenly a chance meeting, seemingly so -unimportant, revealed to him the fact that he was not free. What now -tormented him was not that he was yielding to that feeling and desired -her--he did not dream of so doing--but that the feeling was awake within -him and he had to be on his guard against it. He had no doubt but that -he would suppress it. - -He had a letter to answer and a paper to write. He sat down at his -writing-table and began to work. Having finished it and quite forgotten -what had disturbed him, he went out to go to the stables. And again as -ill-luck would have it, either by unfortunate chance or intentionally, -as soon as he stepped from the porch, a red skirt and red kerchief -appeared from round the corner, and she went past him swinging her arms -and swaying her body. She not only went past him, but on passing him -ran, as if playfully, to overtake her fellow-servant. - -Again the bright midday, the nettles, the back of Daniel's hut, and in -the shade of the plane-trees her smiling face biting some leaves, rose -in his imagination. - -"No, it is impossible to let matters continue so," he said to himself, -and waiting till the women had passed out of sight he went to the -office. - -It was just the dinner-hour and he hoped to find the steward still -there. So it happened. The steward was just waking up from his -after-dinner nap. Standing in the office, stretching himself and -yawning, he was looking at the herdsman who was telling him something. - -"Vasili Nikolaich!" said Eugene to the steward. - -"What is your pleasure?" - -"I want to speak to you." - -"What is your pleasure?" - -"Just finish what you are saying." - -"Aren't you going to bring it in?" said Vasili Nikolaich to the -herdsman. - -"It's heavy, Vasili Nikolaich." - -"What is it?" asked Eugene. - -"Why, a cow has calved in the meadow. Well, all right, I'll order them -to harness a horse at once. Tell Nicholas Lysukh to get out the dray -cart." - -The herdsman went out. - -"Do you know," began Eugene, flushing and conscious that he was doing -so, "do you know, Vasili Nikolaich, while I was a bachelor I went off -the track a bit. . . . You may have heard . . ." - -Vasili Nikolaich with smiling eyes and evidently sorry for his master, -said: "Is it about Stepanida?" - -"Why, yes. Look here. Please, please do not engage her to help in the -house. You understand, it is very awkward for me . . ." - -"Yes, it must have been Vanya, the clerk, who arranged it." - -"Yes, please. . . . Well, and hadn't the rest of the phosphates better -be strewn?" said Eugene, to hide his confusion. - -"Yes, I am just going to see to it." - -So it ended. And Eugene calmed down, hoping that as he had lived for a -year without seeing her, so things would go on now. "Besides, Vasili -Nikolaich will speak to Ivan the clerk; Ivan will speak to her, and she -will understand that I don't want it," said Eugene to himself, and he -was glad that he had forced himself to speak to Vasili Nikolaich, hard -as it had been to do so. - -"Yes, it is better, better, than that feeling of doubt, that feeling of -shame." He shuddered at the mere remembrance of his sin in thought. - - - - -XII - - -The moral effort he had made to overcome his shame and speak to Vasili -Nikolaich, tranquillized Eugene. It seemed to him that the matter was -all over now. Liza at once noticed that he was quite calm, and even -happier than usual. "No doubt he was upset by our mothers pin-pricking -one another. It really is disagreeable, especially for him who is so -sensitive and noble, always to hear such unfriendly and ill-mannered -insinuations," thought she. - -The next day was Trinity Sunday. The weather was beautiful, and the -peasant-women, according to custom, on their way into the woods to plait -wreaths, came to the landowner's home and began to sing and dance. Mary -Pavlovna and Varvara Alexeevna came out on to the porch in smart -clothes, carrying sunshades, and went up to the ring of singers. With -them, in a jacket of Chinese silk, came out the uncle, a flabby -libertine and drunkard, who was living that summer with Eugene. - -As usual there was a bright, many-coloured ring of young women and -girls, the centre of everything, and around these from different sides -like attendant planets that had detached themselves and were circling -round, went girls hand in hand, rustling in their new print gowns; young -lads giggling and running backwards and forwards after one another; -full-grown lads in dark blue or black coats and caps and with red -shirts, who unceasingly spat out sunflower-seed shells; and the domestic -servants or other outsiders watching the dance-circle from aside. Both -the old ladies went close up to the ring, and Liza accompanied them in a -light blue dress, with light blue ribbons on her head, and with wide -sleeves under which her long white arms and angular elbows were visible. - -Eugene did not wish to come out, but it was ridiculous to hide, and he -too came out on to the porch smoking a cigarette, bowed to the men and -lads, and talked with one of them. The women meanwhile shouted a -dance-song with all their might, snapping their fingers, clapping their -hands, and dancing. - -"They are calling for the master," said a youngster, coming up to -Eugene's wife who had not noticed the call. Liza called Eugene to look -at the dance and at one of the women dancers who particularly pleased -her. This was Stepanida. She wore a yellow skirt, a velveteen sleeveless -jacket and a silk kerchief, and was broad, energetic, ruddy, and merry. -No doubt she danced well. He saw nothing. - -"Yes, yes," said he, removing and replacing his pince-nez. "Yes, yes," -repeated he. "So it seems I cannot be rid of her," he thought. - -He did not look at her as he was afraid of her attraction, and just on -that account what his passing glance caught of her seemed to him -especially attractive. Besides this he saw by her sparkling look that -she saw him and saw that he admired her. He stood there as long as -propriety demanded, and seeing that Varvara Alexeevna had called her, -senselessly and insincerely, "my dear," and was talking to her, he -turned aside and went away. - -He went into the house. He retired in order not to see her, but on -reaching the upper story, without knowing how or why, he approached the -window, and as long as the women remained at the porch he stood there -and looked and looked at her, feasting his eyes on her. - -He ran, while there was no one to see him, and then went with quiet -steps on to the verandah, and from there, smoking a cigarette and as if -going for a stroll, he passed through the garden and followed the -direction she had taken. He had not gone two steps along the alley -before he noticed behind the trees a velveteen sleeveless jacket, with a -pink and yellow skirt and a red kerchief. She was going somewhere with -another woman. "Where are they going?" - -And suddenly a terrible desire scorched him, as though a hand were -seizing his heart. As if by someone else's wish he looked round and went -towards her. - -"Eugene Ivanich, Eugene Ivanich! I have come to see your honour," said a -voice behind him, and Eugene, seeing old Samokhin, who was digging a -well for him, roused himself and, turning quickly round, went to meet -Samokhin. While speaking with him he turned sideways and saw that she -and the woman who was with her went down the slope, evidently to the -well, or making an excuse of the well, and having stopped there a little -while, ran back to the dance-circle. - - - - -XIII - - -After talking to Samokhin, Eugene returned to the house as depressed as -if he had committed a crime. In the first place she had understood him, -believed that he wanted to see her, and desired it herself. Secondly, -that other woman, Anna Prokhorova, evidently knew of it. - -Above all, he felt that he was conquered, that he was not master of his -own will but that there was another power moving him, that he had been -saved only by good fortune, and that, if not to-day, to-morrow or a day -later, he would perish all the same. - -"Yes, perish," he did not understand it otherwise: to be unfaithful to -his young and loving wife with a peasant woman in the village, in the -sight of everyone,--what was it but to perish, perish utterly, so that -it would be impossible to live? No, something must be done. - -"My God, my God! What am I to do? Can it be that I shall perish like -this?" said he to himself. "Is it not possible to do anything? Yet -something must be done. Do not think about her"--he ordered himself. "Do -not think!" and immediately he began thinking and seeing her before him, -and seeing also the shade of the plane tree. - -He remembered having read of a hermit who, to avoid the temptation he -felt for a woman on whom he had to lay his hand to heal her, thrust his -other hand into a brazier and burnt his fingers. He called that to mind. -"Yes, I am ready to burn my fingers rather than to perish." He looked -round to make sure that there was no one in the room, lit a candle, and -put a finger into the flame. "There now think about her," he said to -himself ironically. It hurt him and he withdrew his smoke-stained -finger, threw away the match, and laughed at himself. What nonsense! -That was not what had to be done. But it was necessary to do something, -to avoid seeing her--either to go away himself or to send her away. -Yes,--send her away. Offer her husband money to remove to town, or to -another village. People would hear of it and would talk about it. Well, -what of that? At any rate it was better than this danger. "Yes, that -must be done," he said to himself; and at the very time he was looking -at her without moving his eyes. "Where is she going?" he suddenly asked -himself. She, as it seemed to him, had seen him at the window and now, -having glanced at him and taken another woman by the hand, was going -towards the garden swinging her arm briskly. Without knowing why or -wherefore, merely in accord with what he had been thinking, he went to -the office. - -Vasili Nikolaich in holiday costume and with oiled hair was sitting at -tea with his wife and a guest who was wearing an oriental kerchief. - -"I want a word with you, Vasili Nikolaich!" - -"Please say what you want to. We have finished tea." - -"No. I'd rather you came out with me." - -"Directly; only let me get my cap. Tanya, put out the samovar,"--said -Vasili Nikolaich, stepping outside cheerfully. - -It seemed to Eugene that Vasili had been drinking, but what was to be -done? It might be all the better--he would sympathize with him in his -difficulties the more readily. - -"I have come again to speak about that same matter, Vasili Nikolaich," -said Eugene,--"about that woman." - -"Well, what of her? I told them not to take her again on any account." - -"No, I have been thinking in general, and this is what I wanted to take -your advice about. Isn't it possible to get them away, to send the whole -family away?" - -"Where can they be sent?" said Vasili, disapprovingly and ironically as -it seemed to Eugene. - -"Well, I thought of giving them money, or even some land in -Koltovski,--so that she should not be here." - -"But how can they be sent away? Where is he to go--torn up from his -roots? And why should you do it? What harm can she do you?" - -"Ah, Vasili Nikolaich, you must understand that it would be dreadful for -my wife to hear of it." - -"But who will tell her?" - -"How can I live with this dread? The whole thing is very painful for -me." - -"But really, why should you distress yourself? Whoever stirs up the -past--out with his eye! Who is not a sinner before God and to blame -before the Tsar, as the saying is?" - -"All the same it would be better to get rid of them. Can't you speak to -the husband?" - -"But it is no use speaking! Eh, Eugene Ivanich, what is the matter with -you? It is all past and forgotten. All sorts of things happen. Who is -there that would now say anything bad of you? Everybody sees you." - -"But all the same go and have a talk with him." - -"All right, I will speak to him." - -Though he knew that nothing would come of it, this talk somewhat calmed -Eugene. Above all, it made him feel that through excitement he had been -exaggerating the danger. - -Had he gone to meet her by appointment? It was impossible. He had simply -gone to stroll in the garden and she had happened to run out at the same -time. - - - - -XIV - - -After dinner that very Trinity Sunday Liza while walking from the garden -to the meadow, where her husband wanted to show her the clover, took a -false step and fell when crossing a little ditch. She fell gently, on -her side; but she gave an exclamation, and her husband saw an expression -in her face not only of fear but of pain. He wished to help her up, but -she motioned him away with her hand. - -"No, wait a bit, Eugene," she said, with a weak smile, and as it seemed -to him, she looked up guiltily. "My foot only gave way under me." - -"There, I always say," remarked Varvara Alexeevna, "can anyone in her -condition possibly jump over ditches?" - -"But no, mamma, it is all right. I shall get up directly." With her -husband's help she did get up, but immediately turned pale, and her face -showed fear. - -"Yes, I am not well," and she whispered something to her mother. - -"Oh, my God, what have you done! I said you ought not to go -there,"--cried Varvara Alexeevna. "Wait,--I will call the servants. She -must not walk. She must be carried!" - -"Don't be afraid, Liza, I will carry you," said Eugene, putting his left -arm round her. "Hold me by the neck. Like that." And stooping down he -put his right arm under her knees and lifted her. He could never -afterwards forget the suffering and yet beatific expression of her face. - -"I am too heavy for you, dear,"--she said with a smile. "Mamma is -running, tell her!" And she bent towards him and kissed him. She -evidently wanted her mother to see how he was carrying her. - -Eugene shouted to Varvara Alexeevna not to hurry, and that he would -carry Liza home. Varvara Alexeevna stopped and began to shout still -louder. - -"You will drop her, you'll be sure to drop her. You want to destroy her. -You have no conscience!" - -"But I am carrying her excellently." - -"I do not want to watch you killing my daughter, and I can't." And she -ran round the bend in the alley. - -"Never mind, it will pass," said Liza, smiling. - -"Yes. If only it does not have consequences like last time." - -"No. I am not speaking of that. That is all right. I mean mamma. You are -tired. Rest a bit." - -But though he found it heavy, Eugene carried his burden proudly and -gladly to the house and did not hand her over to the housemaid and the -man-cook whom Varvara Alexeevna had found and sent to meet them. He -carried her to the bedroom and placed her on the bed. - -"Now go away," she said and drawing his hand to her she kissed it. -"Annushka and I will manage all right." - -Mary Pavlovna also ran in from her rooms in the wing. They undressed -Liza and laid her on the bed. Eugene sat in the drawing-room with a book -in his hand, waiting. Varvara Alexeevna went past him with such a -reproachfully gloomy air that he felt alarmed. - -"Well, how is it?" he asked. - -"How? What's the good of asking? It is probably what you wanted when you -made your wife jump over the ditch." - -"Varvara Alexeevna!" he cried. "This is impossible. If you want to -torment people and to poison their life,"--he wanted to say, "then go -elsewhere to do it," but he restrained himself. "How is it that it does -not hurt you?" - -"It is too late now." And shaking her cap in a triumphant manner she -passed out by the door. - -The fall had really been a bad one, Liza's foot had twisted awkwardly -and there was danger of her having another miscarriage. Everyone knew -that there was nothing to be done, but that she must just lie quietly, -yet all the same they decided to send for a doctor. - -"Dear Nikolay Semënich," wrote Eugene to the doctor, "you have always -been so kind to us, that I hope you will not refuse to come to my wife's -assistance. She . . ." and so on. Having written the letter he went to -the stables to arrange about the horses and the carriage. Horses had to -be got ready to bring the doctor, and others to take him back. When an -estate is not run on a large scale, such things cannot be quickly -decided but have to be considered. Having arranged it all and dispatched -the coachman, it was past nine before he got back to the house. His wife -was lying down, and said that she felt perfectly well and had no pain. -But Varvara Alexeevna was sitting with a lamp screened from Liza by some -sheets of music and knitting a large red coverlet, with a mien that said -that after what had happened peace was impossible; but that no matter -what anyone else did, she at any rate would do her duty. - -Eugene noticed this but, to appear as if he had not seen it, he tried to -assume a cheerful and tranquil air and told how he had chosen the horses -and how the mare, Kabushka, had galloped capitally as left trace-horse -in the troika. - -"Yes, of course, it is just the time to exercise the horses when help is -needed. Probably the doctor will also be thrown into the ditch," -remarked Varvara Alexeevna, examining her knitting from under her -pince-nez and moving it close up to the lamp. - -"But you know we had to send one way or other, and I made the best -arrangement I could." - -"Yes, I remember very well how your horses galloped with me under the -gateway arch." This was her long-standing fancy, and Eugene now was -injudicious enough to remark that was not quite what had happened. - -"It is not for nothing that I have always said, and have often remarked -to the prince, that it is hardest of all to live with people who are -untruthful and insincere; I can endure anything except that." - -"Well, if anyone has to suffer more than another, it is certainly I," -said Eugene. "But you . . ." - -"Yes, it is evident." - -"What?" - -"Nothing, I am only counting my stitches." - -Eugene was standing at the time by the bed and Liza was looking at him, -and one of her moist hands outside the coverlet caught his hand and -pressed it. "Bear with her for my sake. You know she cannot prevent our -loving one another," was what her look said. - -"I won't do so again. It's nothing," whispered he, and he kissed her -damp, long hand and then her affectionate eyes, which closed while he -kissed them. - -"Can it be the same thing over again?" he asked. "How are you feeling?" - -"I am afraid to say, for fear of being mistaken, but I feel that he is -alive and will live," said she, glancing at her stomach. - -"Ah, it is dreadful, dreadful to think of." - -Notwithstanding Liza's insistence that he should go away, Eugene spent -the night with her, hardly closing an eye and ready to attend on her. - -But she passed the night well, and had they not sent for the doctor she -would perhaps have got up. - -By dinner-time the doctor arrived and of course said that, though if the -symptoms recurred there might be cause for apprehension, yet actually -there were no positive symptoms, but as there were also no contrary -indications one might suppose on the one hand that--and on the other -hand that. . . . And therefore she must lie still, and that "though I do -not like prescribing, yet all the same she should take this mixture and -should lie quiet." Besides this, the doctor gave Varvara Alexeevna a -lecture on woman's anatomy, during which Varvara Alexeevna nodded her -head significantly. Having received his fee, as usual into the backmost -part of his palm, the doctor drove away and the patient was left to lie -in bed for a week. - - - - -XV - - -Most of his time Eugene spent by his wife's bedside, talking to her, -reading to her, and what was hardest of all, enduring without murmur -Varvara Alexeevna's attacks, and even contriving to turn these into -jokes. - -But he could not stay at home. In the first place his wife sent him -away, saying that he would fall ill if he always remained with her; and, -secondly, the farming was progressing in a way that demanded his -presence at every step. He could not stay at home; but was in the -fields, in the wood, in the garden, at the thrashing-floor; and -everywhere, not merely the thought but the vivid image of Stepanida -pursued him, and he only occasionally forgot her. But that would not -have mattered, he could perhaps have mastered his feeling; but what was -worst of all was that, whereas he had previously lived for months -without seeing her, he now continually came across her. She evidently -understood that he wished to renew relations with her, and tried to come -in his way. Nothing was said either by him or by her, and therefore -neither he nor she went directly to a rendezvous, but only sought -opportunities of meeting. - -The place where it was possible for them to meet each other was in the -forest, where peasant-women went with sacks to collect grass for their -cows. Eugene knew this and therefore went every day by that wood. Every -day he told himself that he would not go there, and every day it ended -by his making his way to the forest and, on hearing the sound of voices, -standing behind the bushes with sinking heart looking to see if she was -there. - -Why he wanted to know whether it was she who was there, he did not know. -If it had been she and she had been alone, he would not have gone to -her--so he believed--he would have run away; but he wanted to see her. - -Once he met her. As he was entering the forest she came out of it with -two other women, carrying a heavy sack, full of grass, on her back. A -little earlier he would perhaps have met her in the forest. But now, -with the other women there, she could not go back to him in the forest. -But though he realized this impossibility, he stood for a long time, at -the risk of attracting the other women's attention, behind a hazel-bush. -Of course she did not return, but he stayed there a long time. And, -great heavens, how delightful his imagination made her appear to him! -And this not once, but five or six times. And each time more intensely. -Never had she seemed so attractive, and never had he been so completely -in her power. - -He felt that he had lost control of himself and had become almost -insane. His strictness with himself was not weakened a jot; on the -contrary he saw all the abomination of his desire and even of his -action, for his going to the wood was an action. He knew that he only -need come near her anywhere in the dark, and if possible touch her, and -he would yield to his feelings. He knew that it was only shame before -people, before her, and no doubt before himself also, that restrained -him. And he knew too that he had sought conditions in which that shame -would not be apparent--darkness or proximity--in which it would be -stifled by animal passion. And therefore he knew that he was a wretched -criminal, and despised and hated himself with all his soul. He hated -himself because he still had not surrendered: every day he prayed God to -strengthen him, to save him from perishing; every day he determined that -from to-day onward he would not take a step to see her, and would forget -her. Every day he devised means of delivering himself from this -enticement, and he made use of those means. - -But it was all in vain. - -One of the means was continual occupation; another was intense physical -work and fasting; a third was imagining clearly to himself the shame -that would fall upon him when everybody knew of it--his wife, his -mother-in-law, and the folk around. He did all this, and it seemed to -him that he was conquering, but the hour came, midday: the hour of their -former meetings and the hour when he had met her carrying the grass, and -he went to the forest. Thus five days of torment passed. He only saw her -from a distance, but did not once encounter her. - - - - -XVI - - -Liza was gradually recovering, she could move about and was only uneasy -at the change that had taken place in her husband, which she did not -understand. - -Varvara Alexeevna had gone away for a while and the only visitor was -Eugene's uncle. Mary Pavlovna was as usual at home. - -Eugene was in his semi-insane condition when there came two days of -pouring rain, as often happens after thunder in June. The rain stopped -all work. They even ceased carting manure, on account of the dampness -and dirt. The peasants remained at home. The herdsmen wore themselves -out with the cattle, and eventually drove them home. The cows and sheep -wandered about in the pastureland and ran loose in the grounds. The -peasant-women, barefoot and wrapped in shawls, splashing through the mud -rushed about to seek the runaway cows. Streams flowed everywhere along -the paths, all the leaves and all the grass were saturated with water, -and streams flowed unceasingly from the spouts into the bubbling -puddles. - -Eugene sat at home with his wife who was particularly wearisome that -day. She questioned Eugene several times as to the cause of his -discontent; and he replied with vexation that nothing was the matter. -She ceased questioning him, but was still distressed. - -They were sitting after breakfast in the drawing-room. His uncle for the -hundredth time was recounting fabrications about his society -acquaintances. Liza was knitting a jacket and sighed, complaining of the -weather and of a pain in the small of her back. The uncle advised her to -lie down, and asked for vodka for himself. It was terribly dull for -Eugene in the house. Everything was weak and dull. He read a book and a -magazine, but understood nothing of them. - -"Yes, I must go out and look at the rasping-machine they brought -yesterday," said he. He got up and went out. - -"Take an umbrella with you." - -"Oh, no, I have a leather coat. And I am only going as far as the -boiling-room." - -He put on his boots and his leather coat and went to the factory; but he -had not gone twenty steps before, coming towards him, he met her with -her skirts tucked up high above her white calves. She was walking, -holding down the shawl in which her head and shoulders were wrapped. - -"Where are you going?" said he, not recognizing her the first instant. -When he recognized her it was already too late. She stopped, smiling, -and looked long at him. - -"I am looking for a calf. Where are you off to in such weather?" said -she, as if she were seeing him every day. - -"Come to the shed," said he suddenly, without knowing how he said it. It -was as if someone else had uttered the words. - -She bit her shawl, winked, and ran in the direction which led from the -garden to the shed, but he continued his path, intending to turn off -beyond the lilac-bush and go there too. - -"Master," he heard a voice behind him. "The mistress is calling you, and -wants you to come back for a minute." - -This was Misha, his man-servant. - -"My God! This is the second time you have saved me," thought Eugene, and -immediately turned back. His wife reminded him that he had promised to -take some medicine at the dinner-hour to a sick woman, and he had better -take it with him. - -While they were getting the medicine some five minutes elapsed, and -then, going away with the medicine, he hesitated to go direct to the -shed, lest he should be seen from the house, but as soon as he was out -of sight he promptly turned and made his way to it. He already saw her -in imagination, inside the shed, smiling gaily. But she was not there, -and there was nothing in the shed to show that she had been there. - -He was already thinking that she had not come, had not heard or -understood his words--he had muttered them through his nose as if afraid -of her hearing them--or perhaps she had not wanted to come. "And why did -I imagine that she would rush to me? She has her own husband; it is only -I who am such a wretch as to have a wife, and a good one, and to run -after another." Thus he thought sitting in the shed, the thatch of which -had a leak and dripped from its straw. "But how delightful it would be -if she did come,--alone here in this rain. If only I could embrace her -once again; then let happen what may. But yes," he recollected, "one -could tell if she has been here by her footprints." He looked at the -trodden ground near the shed and at the path overgrown by grass; and the -fresh print of bare feet, and even of one that had slipped, was visible. -"Yes, she has been here. Well now it is settled. Wherever I may see her -I shall go straight to her. I will go to her at night." He sat for a -long time in the shed, and left it exhausted and crushed. He delivered -the medicine, returned home, and lay down in his room to wait for -dinner. - - - - -XVII - - -Before dinner Liza came to him and, still wondering what could be the -cause of his discontent, began to say that she was afraid that he did -not like the idea of her going to Moscow for her confinement, and that -she had decided that she would remain at home and would on no account go -to Moscow. He knew how she feared both her confinement itself and the -risk of not having a healthy child, and therefore he could not help -being touched at seeing how ready she was to sacrifice everything for -his sake. All was so nice, so pleasant, so clean, in the house; and in -his soul it was so dirty, despicable, and horrid. The whole evening -Eugene was tormented by knowing that notwithstanding his sincere -repulsion at his own weakness, notwithstanding his firm intention to -break off,--the same thing would happen again to-morrow. - -"No, this is impossible," he said to himself, walking up and down in his -room. "There must be some remedy for it. My God! What am I to do?" - -Someone knocked at the door as foreigners do. He knew this must be his -uncle. "Come in," he said. - -The uncle had come as a self-appointed ambassador from Liza. - -"Do you know, I really do notice that there is a change in you," he -said,--"and Liza--I understand how it troubles her. I understand that -it must be hard for you to leave all the business you have so -excellently started, but _que veux-tu_?[3] I should advise you to go -away. It will be more satisfactory both for you and for her. And do you -know, I should advise you to go to the Crimea. The climate is beautiful -and there is an excellent _accoucheur_ there, and you would be just in -time for the best of the grape season." - -"Uncle," Eugene suddenly exclaimed. "Can you keep a secret? A secret -that is terrible to me, a shameful secret." - -"Oh, come--do you really feel any doubt of me?" - -"Uncle, you can help me. Not only help, but save me!" said Eugene. And -the thought that he would disclose his secret to his uncle whom he did -not respect, the thought that he would show himself in the worst light -and humiliate himself before him, was pleasant. He felt himself to be -despicable and guilty, and wished to punish himself. - -"Speak, my dear fellow, you know how fond I am of you," said the uncle, -evidently well content that there was a secret and that it was a -shameful one, and that it would be communicated to him, and that he -could be of use. - -"First of all I must tell you that I am a wretch, a good-for-nothing, a -scoundrel--a real scoundrel." - -"Now what are you saying . . ." began his uncle, as if he were offended. - -"What! Not a wretch when I,--Liza's husband, Liza's! One has only to -know her purity, her love--and that I, her husband, want to be untrue to -her with a peasant-woman!" - -"How's that? Why do you want to--you have not been unfaithful to her?" - -"Yes, at least just the same as being untrue, for it did not depend on -me. I was ready to do so. I was hindered, or else I should . . . now. I -do not know what I should have done . . ." - -"But please, explain to me . . ." - -"Well, it is like this. When I was a bachelor I was stupid enough to -have relations with a woman here in our village. That is to say, I used -to have meetings with her in the forest, in the field . . ." - -"Was she pretty?" asked his uncle. - -Eugene frowned at this question, but he was in such need of external -help that he made as if he did not hear it, and continued: - -"Well, I thought this was just casual and that I should break it off and -have done with it. And I did break it off before my marriage. For nearly -a year I did not see her or think about her." It seemed strange to -Eugene himself to hear the description of his own condition,--"Then -suddenly, I don't myself know why,--really one sometimes believes in -witchcraft--I saw her, and a worm crept into my heart--and it gnaws. I -reproach myself, I understood the full horror of my action, that is to -say, of the act I may commit any moment, and yet I myself turned to it, -and if I have not committed it is only because God preserved me. -Yesterday I was on my way to see her when Liza sent for me." - -"What, in the rain?" - -"Yes; I am worn out, Uncle, and have decided to confess to you and to -ask your help." - -"Yes, of course, it's a bad thing on your own estate. People will get to -know. I understand that Liza is weak and that it is necessary to spare -her, but why on your own estate?" - -Again Eugene tried not to hear what his uncle was saying, and hurried on -to the core of the matter. - -"Yes, save me from myself. That is what I ask of you. To-day I was -hindered by chance. But to-morrow or next time no one will hinder me. -And she knows now. Don't leave me alone." - -"Yes, all right," said his uncle,--"but are you really so in love?" - -"Ah, it is not that at all. It is not that, it is some kind of power -that has seized me and holds me. I do not know what to do. Perhaps I -shall gain strength, and then . . ." - -"Well, it turns out as I suggested," said his uncle. "Let us be off to -the Crimea." - -"Yes, yes, let us go; and meanwhile you will be with me, and will talk -to me." - - -[Footnote 3: What will you have?] - - - - -XVIII - - -The fact that Eugene had confided his secret to his uncle, but chiefly -the sufferings of his conscience and the feeling of shame he experienced -after that rainy day, sobered him. It was settled that they would start -for Yalta in a week's time. During that week Eugene drove to town to get -money for the journey, gave instructions from the house and from the -office concerning the management of the estate, again became gay and -friendly with his wife, and began to awaken morally. - -So without having once seen Stepanida after that rainy day he left with -his wife for the Crimea. There he spent an excellent two months. He -received so many new impressions that it seemed to him that the past was -obliterated from his memory. In the Crimea they met former acquaintances -and became particularly friendly with them, and they also made new -acquaintances. Life in the Crimea was a continual holiday for Eugene, -besides being instructive and beneficial. They became friendly there -with the former Marshal of the Nobility of their province; a clever and -Liberal-minded man, who became fond of Eugene and coached him, and -attracted him to his Party. - -At the end of August Liza gave birth to a beautiful, healthy daughter, -and her confinement was unexpectedly easy. - -In September they returned home, the four of them, including the baby -and its wet-nurse, as Liza was unable to nurse it herself. Eugene -returned home entirely free from the former horrors and quite a new and -happy man. Having gone through all that a husband goes through when his -wife bears a child, he loved his wife more than ever. His feeling for -the child when he took it in his arms, was a funny, new, very pleasant -and, as it were, a tickling feeling. Another new thing in his life now -was that, besides his occupation with the estate, thanks to his -acquaintance with Dumchin (the ex-Marshal) a new interest occupied his -mind, that of the Zemstvo--partly an ambitious interest, partly a -feeling of duty. In October there was to be a special Assembly, at which -he was to be elected. After arriving home he drove once to town and -another time to Dumchin. - -Of the torments of his temptation and struggle he had forgotten even to -think, and could with difficulty recall them to mind. It seemed to him -something like an attack of insanity he had undergone. - -To such an extent did he now feel free from it that he was not even -afraid to make inquiries on the first occasion when he remained alone -with the steward. As he had previously spoken to him about the matter he -was not ashamed to ask. - -"Well, and is Sidor Pechnikov still away from home?" he inquired. - -"Yes, he is still in town." - -"And his wife?" - -"Oh, she is a worthless woman. She is now carrying on with Zenovi. She -has quite gone on the loose." - -"Well, that is all right," thought Eugene. "How wonderfully indifferent -to it I am! How I have changed." - - - - -XIX - - -All that Eugene had wished had been realized. He had obtained the -property, the factory was working successfully, the beet-crops were -excellent, and his expected income would be a large one; his wife had -borne a child satisfactorily, his mother-in-law had left, and he had -been unanimously elected to the Zemstvo. - -Eugene was returning home from town after the election. He had been -congratulated and had had to return thanks. He had had dinner and had -drunk some five glasses of champagne. Quite new plans of life now -presented themselves to him. He was driving home and thinking about -these. It was the Indian summer: an excellent road and a hot sun. As he -approached his home Eugene was thinking of how, as a result of this -election, he would occupy among the people the position of which he had -always dreamed; that is to say, one in which he would be able to serve -them not only by production, which gave employment, but also by direct -influence. He imagined how in another three years his own and the other -peasants would think of him. "For instance this one," he thought, -driving just then through the village and glancing at a peasant who with -a peasant-woman was crossing the street in front of him carrying a full -water-tub. They stopped to let his carriage pass. The peasant was old -Pechnikov, and the woman was Stepanida. Eugene looked at her, recognized -her, and was glad to feel that he remained quite tranquil. She was still -as good-looking as ever, but this did not touch him at all. He drove -home. - -"Well, may we congratulate you?" said his uncle. - -"Yes, I was elected." - -"Capital! We must drink to it!" - -Next day Eugene drove about to see to the farming which he had been -neglecting. At the outlying farmstead a new thrashing machine was at -work. While watching it Eugene stepped among the women, trying not to -take notice of them; but try as he would he once or twice noticed the -black eyes and red kerchief of Stepanida, who was carrying away the -straw. Once or twice he glanced sideways at her and felt that something -was happening, but could not account for it to himself. Only next day, -when he again drove to the thrashing-floor and spent two hours there -quite unnecessarily, without ceasing to caress with his eyes the -familiar, handsome figure of the young woman, did he feel that he was -lost, irremediably lost. Again those torments! Again all that horror and -fear, and there was no saving himself. - - -What he expected happened to him. The evening of the next day, without -knowing how, he found himself at her back-yard, by her hay-shed, where -in autumn they had once had a meeting. As though having a stroll, he -stopped there lighting a cigarette. A neighbouring peasant-woman saw -him, and as he turned back he heard her say to someone: "Go, he is -waiting for you,--on my dying word he is standing there. Go, you fool!" - -He saw how a woman--she--ran to the hay-shed; but as a peasant had met -him, it was no longer possible for him to turn back, and so he went -home. - - - - -XX - - -When he entered the drawing-room everything seemed strange and unnatural -to him. He had risen that morning vigorous, determined to fling it all -aside, to forget it and not to allow himself to think about it. But -without noticing how it occurred he had all the morning not merely not -interested himself in the work, but tried to avoid it. What had formerly -been important and had cheered him, was now insignificant. Unconsciously -he tried to free himself from business. It seemed to him that he had to -do so in order to think and to plan. And he freed himself and remained -alone. But as soon as he was alone he began to wander about in the -garden and the forest. And all those spots were besmirched in his -recollection by memories that gripped him. He felt that he was walking -in the garden and pretending to himself that he was thinking out -something, but that really he was not thinking out anything, but -insanely and unreasonably expecting her; expecting that by some miracle -she would be aware that he was expecting her, and would come here at -once and go somewhere where no one would see them, or would come at -night when there would be no moon and no one, not even she herself, -would see,--on such a night she would come and he would touch her -body. . . . - -"There now, talking of breaking off when I wish to," said he to himself. -"Yes, and that is having a clean healthy woman for one's health's sake! -No, it seems one can't play with her like that. I thought I had taken -her, but it was she who took me; took me and does not let me go. Why, I -thought I was free, but I was not free and was deceiving myself when I -married. It was all nonsense,--fraud. From the time I had her I -experienced a new feeling, the real feeling of a husband. Yes, I ought -to have lived with her. - -"One of two lives is possible for me: that which I began with Liza: -service, estate management, the child, and people's respect. If that is -life, it is necessary that she, Stepanida, should not be there. She must -be sent away, as I said, or destroyed so that she shall not exist. And -the other life--is this. For me to take her away from her husband, pay -him money, disregard the shame and disgrace, and live with her. But in -that case it is necessary that Liza should not exist, nor Mimi (the -baby). No, that is not so, the baby does not matter, but it is necessary -that there should be no Liza,--that she should go away--that she should -know, curse me, and go away. That she should know that I have exchanged -her for a peasant-woman, that I am a deceiver and a scoundrel!--No, that -is too terrible! It is impossible. But it might happen," he went on -thinking,--"it might happen that Liza might fall ill and die. Die, and -then everything would be capital. - -"Capital! Oh, scoundrel! No, if someone must die it should be she. If -she, Stepanida, were to die, how good it would be. - -"Yes, that is how men come to poison or kill their wives or lovers. Take -a revolver and go and call her, and instead of embracing her, shoot her -in the breast and have done with it. - -"Really she is--a devil. Simply a devil. She has possessed herself of me -against my own will. - -"Kill? Yes. There are only two ways out: to kill my wife, or her. For it -is impossible to live like this.[4] It is impossible. I must consider -the matter and look ahead. If things remain as they are what will -happen? I shall again be saying to myself that I do not wish it and that -I will throw her off, but I shall only say it, and in the evening I -shall be at her back-yard,--and she will know it and will come out. And -if people know of it and tell my wife, or if I tell her myself,--for I -can't lie--I shall not be able to live so. I cannot! People will know. -They will all know--Parasha and the blacksmith. Well, is it possible to -live so?" - -[Footnote 4: At this place the alternative ending, printed at the end of -the story, begins.] - -"Impossible. There are only two ways out: to kill my wife, or to kill -her. Yes, or else . . . Ah, yes, there is a third way: to kill myself," -said he softly, and suddenly a shudder ran over his skin. "Yes, kill -myself, then I shall not need to kill them." He became frightened, for -he felt that only that way was possible. He had a revolver. "Shall I -really kill myself? It is something I never thought of,--how strange it -will be . . ." - -He returned to his study and at once opened the cupboard where the -revolver lay, but before he had taken it out of its case, his wife -entered the room. - - - - -XXI - - -He threw a newspaper over the revolver. - -"Again the same!" said she aghast when she had looked at him. - -"What is the same?" - -"The same terrible expression that you had before and would not explain -to me. Jenya, dear one, tell me about it. I see that you are suffering. -Tell me and you will feel easier. Whatever it may be, it will be better -than for you to suffer so. Don't I know that it is nothing bad." - -"You know? While . . ." - -"Tell me, tell me, tell me. I won't let you go." - -He smiled a piteous smile. - -"Shall I?--No, it is impossible. And there is nothing to tell." - -Perhaps he might have told her, but at that moment the wet-nurse entered -to ask if she should go for a walk. Liza went out to dress the baby. - -"Then you will tell me? I will be back directly." - -"Yes, perhaps . . ." - -She never could forget the piteous smile with which he said this. She -went out. - -Hurriedly, stealthily like a robber, he seized the revolver and took it -out of its case. It was loaded, yes, but long ago, and one cartridge was -missing. - -"Well, how will it be?" He put it to his temple and hesitated a little, -but as soon as he remembered Stepanida,--his decision not to see her, -his struggle, temptation, fall, and renewed struggle,--he shuddered with -horror. "No, this is better," and he pulled the trigger . . . - -When Liza ran into the room--she had only had time to step down from the -balcony--he was lying face downwards on the floor: black, warm blood was -gushing from the wound, and his corpse was twitching. - -There was an inquest. No one could understand or explain the suicide. It -never even entered his uncle's head that its cause could be anything in -common with the confession Eugene had made to him two months previously. - -Varvara Alexeevna assured them that she had always foreseen it. It had -been evident from his way of disputing. Neither Liza nor Mary Pavlovna -could at all understand why it had happened, but still they did not -believe what the doctors said, namely, that he was mentally deranged--a -psychopath. They were quite unable to accept this, for they knew he was -saner than hundreds of their acquaintances. - -And indeed if Eugene Irtenev was mentally deranged everyone is similarly -insane; the most mentally deranged people are certainly those who see in -others indications of insanity they do not notice in themselves. - - - - -VARIATION OF THE CONCLUSION OF -_THE DEVIL_ - - -"To kill, yes. There were only two ways out: to kill his wife, or to -kill her. For it is impossible to live like this," said he to himself, -and going up to the table he took from it a revolver which, having -examined--one cartridge was wanting--he put in his trouser pocket. - -"My God! What am I doing?" he suddenly exclaimed, and folding his hands -he began to pray. - -"Oh, God, help me and deliver me. Thou knowest that I do not desire -evil, but by myself am powerless. Help me," said he, making the sign of -the cross on his breast before the icon. - -"Yes, I can control myself. I will go out, walk about and think things -over." - -He went to the entrance-hall, put on his overcoat and went out on to the -porch. Unconsciously his steps took him past the garden along the field -path to the outlying farmstead. There the thrashing machine was still -droning and the cries of the driver-lads were heard. He entered the -barn. She was there. He saw her at once. She was raking up the corn, and -on seeing him she, with laughing eyes, ran briskly and merrily over the -scattered corn, raking it up with agility. Eugene could not help -watching her though he did not wish it. He only recollected himself when -she was no longer in sight. The clerk informed him that they were now -finishing thrashing the corn that had been beaten down--that was why it -was going slower and the output was less. Eugene went up to the drum, -which occasionally gave a knock as sheaves not evenly fed in passed -under it, and he asked the clerk if there were many such sheaves of -beaten-down corn. - -"There will be five cartloads of it." - -"Then look here . . ." began Eugene, but he did not finish the sentence. -She had gone close up to the drum and was raking the corn from under it, -and she scorched him with her laughing eyes. That look spoke of a merry -careless love between them, of the fact that she knew he wanted her and -had come to her shed, and that she, as always, was ready to live and be -merry with him regardless of all conditions or consequences. Eugene felt -himself to be in her power, but did not wish to yield. - -He remembered his prayer and tried to repeat it. He began saying it to -himself, but at once felt that it was useless. A single thought now -engrossed him entirely: how to arrange a meeting with her so that the -others should not notice it. - -"If we finish this lot to-day, are we to start on a fresh stack or leave -it till to-morrow?" asked the clerk. - -"Yes, yes," replied Eugene, involuntarily following her to the heap to -which with the other women she was raking the corn. - -"But can I really not master myself?" said he to himself. "Have I really -perished? Oh, God! But there is no God. There is only a devil. And it is -she. She has possessed me. But I won't, I won't! A devil, yes, a devil." - -Again he went up to her, drew the revolver from his pocket and shot her, -once, twice, thrice, in the back. She ran a few steps and fell on the -heap of corn. - -"Good Lord, oh dear! What is that?" cried the women. - -"No, it was not an accident. I killed her on purpose," cried Eugene. -"Send for the police-officer." - -He went home and, without speaking to his wife, went to his study and -locked himself in. - -"Do not come to me," he cried to his wife through the door. "You will -know all about it." - -An hour later he rang, and bade the man-servant who answered the bell: -"Go and find out whether Stepanida is alive." - -The servant already knew all about it, and told him she had died an hour -ago. - -"Well, all right. Now leave me alone,--when the police-officer or the -magistrate comes, let me know." - -The police-officer and magistrate arrived next morning, and Eugene, -having bidden his wife and the baby farewell, was taken to prison. - -He was tried. It was during the early days of trial by jury;[5] and the -verdict was one of temporary insanity, and he was sentenced only to -perform church penance. - -He had been kept in prison for nine months and was then confined in a -monastery for one month. - - -[Footnote 5: Trial by jury was introduced in 1864, and at first the -juries were inclined to be extremely lenient to the prisoners.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEVIL *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/67224-0.zip b/old/67224-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 90013b8..0000000 --- a/old/67224-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/67224-h.zip b/old/67224-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index bea75f5..0000000 --- a/old/67224-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/67224-h/67224-h.htm b/old/67224-h/67224-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index acf359f..0000000 --- a/old/67224-h/67224-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3697 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8"> - <title> - The Devil | Project Gutenberg - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/devil_cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - <style> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; - text-indent:4%; -} - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Notes */ - -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - -/* Poetry */ -.poem { - margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; - text-align: left; -} - -.poem br {display: none;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Devil, by Leo Tolstoy</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Devil</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Leo Tolstoy</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Aylmer Maude</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 22, 2022 [eBook #67224]<br> -Last Updated: August 7, 2023</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues (Images generously made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEVIL ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/devil_cover.jpg" width="500" alt=""> -</div> - - -<h1>THE DEVIL</h1> - -<p><br></p> - -<h4>BY</h4> - - -<h2>LEO TOLSTOY</h2> - -<p><br></p> - -<h5><i>Translated by</i></h5> - -<h3>AYLMER MAUDE</h3> - -<p><br></p> - -<h4>LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.<br> -RUSKIN HOUSE, 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.1</h4> - -<p><br></p> - -<h5>First published in 1926.</h5> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<blockquote><p> -But I say unto you, that every one that looketh on a woman to lust after -her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. -</p> - -<p> -And if thy right eye causeth thee to stumble, pluck it out, and cast it -from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should -perish, and not thy whole body be cast into hell. -</p> - -<p> -And if thy right hand causeth thee to stumble, cut it off, and cast it -from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should -perish, and not thy whole body go into hell. -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">MATTHEW V. 28, 29, 30.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4>LIST OF RUSSIAN NAMES</h4> - -<h5><i>With stress-accents marked to show which syllable should be -emphasized.</i></h5> - -<p class="nind"> -Dómna, a cook in Tolstoy's house.<br> -Leo Tolstóy, the author.<br> -Yásnaya Polyána, his estate.<br> -</p> -<p class="nind"> -Anna Prókhorova, a peasant woman.<br> -Ánnushka, a servant.<br> -Desyatína, a land measure, about 2·7 acres.<br> -Dúmchin, an ex-Marshal of the Nobility.<br> -Eugene Ivánich Irténev (Jénya), a landed-proprietor.<br> -Fëdor Zakhárich Pryánishnikov, a gentleman.<br> -Iván (Ványa), a clerk.<br> -Kabúshka, a mare.<br> -Kalériya Vladímirovna Esípova, a lady.<br> -Koltóvski, an estate.<br> -Liza Ánnenskaya, Eugene's wife.<br> -Mary Pávlovna Irtényeva, Eugene's mother.<br> -Matvéy, a peasant.<br> -Misha, a man-servant.<br> -Nicholas Lysúkh, a servant.<br> -Nikoláy Semënich, a doctor.<br> -Parásha, a servant.<br> -Samókhin, a labourer.<br> -Semënovskoe, a village.<br> -Sídor Péchnikov, a peasant.<br> -Stepanída Péchnikova, Sídor's wife.<br> -Tánya, a girl.<br> -Varára Alexéevna Ánnenskaya, Liza's mother.<br> -Vasíli Nikoláich, a steward.<br> -Vásin, a peasant.<br> -Yálta, a town in the Crimea.<br> -Zémstvo, a Local Government institution.<br> -Zenóvi, a peasant.<br> -</p> -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -ë is pronounced as <i>yo</i>.</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> -<p class="nind"><a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE</a><br> -CHAPTER<br> -<a href="#I">I</a><br> -<a href="#II">II</a><br> -<a href="#III">III</a><br> -<a href="#IV">IV</a><br> -<a href="#V">V</a><br> -<a href="#VI">VI</a><br> -<a href="#VII">VII</a><br> -<a href="#VIII">VIII</a><br> -<a href="#IX">IX</a><br> -<a href="#X">X</a><br> -<a href="#XI">XI</a><br> -<a href="#XII">XII</a><br> -<a href="#XIII">XIII</a><br> -<a href="#XIV">XIV</a><br> -<a href="#XV">XV</a><br> -<a href="#XVI">XVI</a><br> -<a href="#XVII">XVII</a><br> -<a href="#XVIII">XVIII</a><br> -<a href="#XIX">XIX</a><br> -<a href="#XX">XX</a><br> -<a href="#XXI">XXI</a><br> -<a href="#VARIATION">VARIATION OF THE CONCLUSION OF <i>THE DEVIL</i></a></p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -Towards the end of 1880, when he was fifty-two, Tolstoy one day -approached the young tutor who lived in his house at Yasnaya Polyana, -and in great agitation asked him to do him a service. The tutor, seeing -Tolstoy so moved, asked what he could possibly do for him. In an unready -voice Tolstoy replied: "Save me, I am falling!" The tutor, in alarm, -inquired what was the matter, to which Tolstoy replied: "I am overcome by -sexual desire and feel a complete lack of power to retrain myself. I am -in danger of yielding to the temptation. Help me!" -</p> - -<p> -"I am a weak man myself," replied the tutor. "How can I help you?" -</p> - -<p> -"You can, if only you won't refuse!" -</p> - -<p> -"But what must I do to help you?" -</p> - -<p> -"This! Come with me on my daily walks. We will go out together and talk, -and the temptation will not occur to me." -</p> - -<p> -They set out together, and Tolstoy told the tutor how during his daily -walks he had encountered Domna, a young woman of twenty-two who had -recently been engaged as the servants' cook. This Domna was a tall, -healthy, attractive young woman with a fine figure and beautiful -complexion, though not otherwise particularly handsome. At first for -some days he had found it pleasant to watch her. Then he had followed -her and whittled to her. After that he had walked and talked with her, -and at last had arranged a rendezvous with her. The spot was in a -distant alley on the estate; to reach it from the house one had to pass -the windows of the children's schoolroom. When setting out past those -windows next day to keep the appointment, he had gone through a terrible -struggle between the temptation and his conscience. Just then his second -son had called to him through the window, reminding him of a Greek -lesson that had been fixed for that day, and this had detained Tolstoy. -He woke as it were, and was glad to have been saved from keeping the -appointment. But the temptation still tormented him. He tried the effect -of prayer, but it did not free him. He suffered but felt powerless and -as if he might yield at any moment. So as a last resource he resolved to -try the effect of making a full confession to someone—giving all -particulars of the strength of the temptation that oppressed him and of -his own weakness. He wished to feel as thoroughly ashamed of himself as -possible, and he had decided to ask the tutor to accompany him on his -daily walk, which usually he took alone. He also arranged that Domna -should be removed to another place. -</p> - -<p> -After the danger was over Tolstoy seldom referred to the incident unless -to those who spoke to him of their own sexual difficulties, but on one -occasion he wrote a full account of it to a friend. -</p> - -<p> -The incident resulted in his writing this story, <i>The Devil</i>—the -hero of which yields to a temptation such as that Tolstoy had encountered. -It was composed some ten years later, but was not published during -Tolstoy's lifetime; nor did it appear in the English edition of his -posthumous works issued by Nelson & Sons. It is now translated into -English for the first time. Tolstoy had vividly imagined the -consequences that might have resulted from yielding to the temptation, -and used that mental experience for his story, employing fictitious -characters placed in surroundings with which he was familiar and such as -those amid which the incident had occurred. -</p> - -<p> -The relations of the sexes in Russian society of his day resembled that -in English society to-day more than in English society of that -period—when, both in literature and in life, repression and -suppression of passion was more common. When in <i>Kreutzer Sonata</i> -and in <i>The Devil</i> he expressed the views he held, Tolstoy was -consciously opposing the current of life around him, and these works -also run counter to the movement of our own society to-day. That however -does not detract from the value of the work. The belief that ill-results -follow from the indulgence of the sexual instincts is not an obsolete -eccentricity but a belief held by many men in many ages, and it receives -sufficient confirmation from experience to make it certain that it is a -view which has to be reckoned with. -</p> - -<p> -The ancient conception of a bitter strife between the flesh and the -spirit and of woman as the devil's chief agent in achieving man's -spiritual destruction, is alien to the modern outlook, and to-day it is -often not understood how and why men ever held such beliefs; but both in -<i>The Kreutzer Sonata</i> and in this story Tolstoy makes us realize how -easily and naturally men of a certain temperament may come to those -convictions. Without adopting that view one is enabled to realize what -others have felt, and to perceive how probable is a reaction from the -unrestraint of to-day; as happened after the libertinage of the -Restoration period. -</p> - -<p> -I do not think there is any other important story of Tolstoy's that has -not yet been translated. He left several trunks full of manuscripts, -chiefly early drafts of works that had been published during his -lifetime or commencements of stories he abandoned; but before his death -he expressed the opinion that, except some passages in his Diaries, -there was little or nothing worth publishing among those remains. He was -indeed a great artist, and his mastery showed itself in knowing what to -strike out, omit, and withhold. His published writings are voluminous, -but among them there is little (except perhaps some of the later -repetitions of his non-resistance doctrine) that we could willingly -spare. But if the mass of documents which while he lived he had the good -sense to suppress are now to be published, together with a large amount -of didactic correspondence, it is likely to injure rather than to -enhance his literary reputation. There is a disquieting rumour that this -is to take place, in the form of an edition of his works extending to -one hundred volumes. Not even that calamity will depose him from the -place he securely holds as the greatest and most influential of Russian -writers, but it will be an obstacle rather than a help to those who want -to become acquainted with the works on which he wished his reputation to -rest. The present story is an exception. It is so characteristic of him, -and so closely connected with an event that influenced him, that it -would be a pity for it not to be known, especially as it is one of the -few posthumous works he left in a completed state; even in this case we -do not know which of the two endings he wrote he would have adopted had -he published it himself. -</p> - -<p> -The foot-notes are by the translator. -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">AYLMER MAUDE</p> - -<p>GREAT BADDOW, CHELMSFORD</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 5%;"><i>September</i> 12, 1925.</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4>THE DEVIL</h4> - -<p><br></p> - - -<h4><a id="I"></a>I</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -A brilliant career lay before Eugene Irtenev. He had all that was -necessary for this: an admirable education at home, high honours when he -graduated in law at Petersburg University, connections in the highest -society through his recently deceased father, and he had himself already -begun service in one of the Ministries under the protection of the -Minister. He also had a fortune; even a large one, though insecure. His -father had lived abroad and in Petersburg, allowing his sons, Eugene, -and Andrew, the elder who was in the Horse Guards, 6,000 rubles a year -each, while he himself and his wife spent a great deal. He only used to -visit his estate for a couple of months in summer and did not concern -himself with its direction, entrusting it all to an unscrupulous manager -who also failed to attend to it, but in whom he had complete confidence. -</p> - -<p> -After the father's death, when the brothers began to divide the -property, there were found to be so many debts that their lawyer even -advised them to refuse the inheritance and retain only an estate left -them by their grand-mother, which was valued at 100,000 rubles. But a -neighbouring landed-proprietor who had done business with old Irtenev, -that is to say, who had promissory notes from him and had come to -Petersburg on that account, said that in spite of the debts they could -straighten out affairs so as to retain a large fortune—it would only -be necessary to sell the forest and some outlying land, retaining the rich -Semënov estate with 4,000 desyatinas of black-earth, the sugar-factory, -and 200 desyatinas of water-meadows—if one devoted oneself to the -management and, settling on the estate, farmed it wisely and -economically. -</p> - -<p> -And so, having visited the estate in spring (his father had died in -Lent), Eugene looked into everything, resolved to retire from the Civil -Service, settle in the country with his mother, and undertake the -management, with the object of preserving the main estate. He arranged -with his brother, with whom he was very friendly, that he would pay him -4,000 rubles a year, or alternatively would pay him 80,000 in a lump -sum, while Andrew, on his part, handed over to him his share of the -inheritance. -</p> - -<p> -So he arranged matters and, having settled down with his mother in the -big house, ardently and yet cautiously began managing the estate. -</p> - -<p> -It is generally supposed that Conservatives are usually old people, and -those in favour of change are the young. That is not quite correct. The -most usual Conservatives are young people: those who want to live but -who do not think, and have not time to think, about how to live and who -therefore take as a model for themselves a way of life that they have -seen. -</p> - -<p> -Thus it was with Eugene. Having settled in the village, his aim and -ideal was to restore the form of life that had existed, not in his -father's time—his father had been a bad manager—but in his -grandfather's. And now in the house, the garden, in the -estate-management—of course with changes suited to the -times—he tried to resurrect the general spirit of his -grandfather's life—everything on a large scale—good order, -method, and everybody satisfied; but so to arrange things entailed much -work. It was necessary to meet the demands of the creditors and the -banks, and for that purpose to sell some land and arrange renewals of -credit. It was also necessary to get money to carry on (partly by -farming out land, and partly by hiring labour) the immense operations on -the Semënov estate, with its 400 desyatinas of ploughland and its -sugar-factory, and to deal with the garden so that it should not seem to -be neglected or in decay. -</p> - -<p> -There was much work to do, but Eugene had plenty of strength—physical -and mental. He was twenty-six, of medium height, strongly built, with -muscles developed by gymnastics. He was full-blooded and very red over -his whole neck, with bright teeth and lips and hair soft and curly, -though not thick. His only physical defect was shortsightedness, which -he had himself developed by using spectacles, so that he could not now -do without a pince-nez, which had already formed a line at the top of -his nose-ridge. -</p> - -<p> -Such he was physically. For his spiritual portrait it might be said that -the better anyone knew him the better they liked him. His mother had -always loved him more than she loved anyone else; and now, after her -husband's death, she concentrated on him not only her whole affection -but her whole life. Nor was it only his mother who so loved him. All his -comrades at the high-school and the university not merely liked him very -much, but respected him. He had this effect on all who met him. It was -impossible not to believe what he said, impossible to suspect any -deception or falseness in one who had such an open, honest face and, in -particular, such eyes. -</p> - -<p> -In general his personality helped him much in his affairs. A creditor -who would have refused another, trusted him. The clerk, the village -Elder, or a peasant, who would have played a dirty trick and cheated -someone else, forgot to deceive under the pleasant impression of -intercourse with this kindly, agreeable, and above all candid man. -</p> - -<p> -It was the end of May. Eugene had somehow managed, in town, to get the -vacant land freed from the mortgage, so as to sell it to a merchant, and -had borrowed money from that same merchant to replenish his stock, that -is to say, to procure horses, bulls, carts and, chiefly, to begin to -build a necessary farm-house. The matter had been arranged. The timber -was being carted, the carpenters were already at work, and manure for -the estate was being brought on eighty carts. But everything still hung -by a thread. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="II"></a>II</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -Amid these cares something came about which, though unimportant, -tormented Eugene at the time. As a young man he had lived as all healthy -young men live, that is, he had had relations with women of various -kinds. He was not a libertine but, as he himself said, neither was he a -monk. He only turned to this, however, in so far as was necessary for -physical health and to have his mind free, as he used to say. This had -begun when he was sixteen and had gone on satisfactorily. Satisfactorily -in the sense that he did not give himself up to debauchery, was not once -infatuated, and had never contracted a disease. At first he had a -seamstress in Petersburg, then she got spoilt and he made other -arrangements, and that side of his affairs was so well secured that it -did not trouble him. -</p> - -<p> -But now he was living in the country for the second month and did not at -all know what he was to do. Compulsory self-restraint was beginning to -have a bad effect on him. -</p> - -<p> -Must he really go to town for that purpose? And where to? How? That was -the only thing that disturbed Eugene Ivanich, but as he was convinced -that the thing was necessary and that he needed it, it really became -necessary, and he felt that he was not free and that involuntarily his -eyes followed every young woman. -</p> - -<p> -He did not approve of having relations with a married woman or a maid in -his own village. He knew by report that both his father and grandfather -had been quite different in this matter from other land-owners of that -time. At home they had never had any entanglements with peasant-women, -and he had decided that he would not do so either; but afterwards, -feeling himself ever more and more under compulsion, and imagining with -horror what might happen to him in the neighbouring country town, and -reflecting on the fact that the days of serfdom were now over, he -decided that it might be done on the spot. Only it must be done so that -no one should know of it, and not for the sake of debauchery but merely -for health's sake—as he said to himself. And when he had decided this -he became still more restless. When talking to the village Elder, the -peasants, or the carpenters, he involuntarily brought the conversation -round to women, and when it turned to women, he kept it on that theme. -He noticed the women more and more. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="III"></a>III</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -To settle the matter in his own mind was one thing, but to carry it out -was another. To approach a woman himself was impossible. Which one? -Where? It must be done through someone else, but to whom should he speak -about it? -</p> - -<p> -He happened to go into a watchman's hut in the forest to get a drink of -water. The watchman had been his father's huntsman. Eugene Ivanich -chatted with him, and the watchman began telling some strange tales of -hunting sprees. It occurred to Eugene Ivanich that it would be -convenient to arrange matters in this hut, or in the wood. Only he did -not know how to manage it, and whether old Daniel would undertake the -arrangement. "Perhaps he will be horrified at such a proposal; and I -shall have disgraced myself, but perhaps he would agree to it quite -simply." So he thought while listening to Daniel's stories. Daniel was -telling how once when they had been stopping at the hut of the sexton's -wife in an outlying field, he had brought a woman for Fëdor Zakharich -Pryanishnikov. -</p> - -<p> -"It will be all right," thought Eugene. -</p> - -<p> -"Your father, may the kingdom of heaven be his, did not go in for -nonsense of that kind." -</p> - -<p> -"It won't do," thought Eugene. But to test the matter he said: "How was -it you engaged on such bad things?" -</p> - -<p> -"But what is there bad in it? She was glad of it, and Fëdor Zakharich -was satisfied, very satisfied. I got a ruble. Why, what was he to do? He -too is a lively limb, apparently, and drinks wine." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I may speak," thought Eugene, and at once proceeded to do so. -</p> - -<p> -"And, do you know, Daniel, I don't know how to endure it,"—he felt -himself going scarlet. -</p> - -<p> -Daniel smiled. -</p> - -<p> -"I am not a monk,—I have been accustomed to it." -</p> - -<p> -He felt that what he was saying was stupid, but was glad to see that -Daniel approved. -</p> - -<p> -"Why of course, you should have told me long ago. It can all be -arranged," said he: "Only tell me which one you want." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, it is really all the same to me. Of course not an ugly one, and she -must be healthy." -</p> - -<p> -"I understand!" said Daniel briefly. He reflected. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! There is a tasty morsel," he began. Again Eugene went red. "A tasty -morsel. See here, she was married last autumn." Daniel -whispered,—"and he hasn't been able to do anything. Think what -that is worth to one who wants it!" -</p> - -<p> -Eugene even frowned with shame. -</p> - -<p> -"No, no," he said. "I don't want that at all. I want, on the contrary -(what could the contrary be?), on the contrary I only want that she -should be healthy and that there should be as little fuss as -possible—a woman whose husband is away in the army, or something -of that kind." -</p> - -<p> -"I know. It's Stepanida I must bring you. Her husband is away in town, -just the same as a soldier. And she is a fine woman, and clean. You will -be satisfied. As it is I was saying to her the other day—you should -go, but she . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Well then, when is it to be?" -</p> - -<p> -"To-morrow if you like. I shall be going to get some tobacco and I will -call in, and at the dinner-hour come here, or to the bath-house behind -the kitchen garden. There will be nobody about. Besides after dinner -everybody takes a nap." -</p> - -<p> -"All right, then." -</p> - -<p> -A terrible excitement seized Eugene as he rode home. "What will happen? -What is a peasant woman like? Suppose it turns out that she is hideous, -horrible. No, she is handsome," he told himself, remembering some he had -been noticing. "But what shall I say? What shall I do?" -</p> - -<p> -He was not himself all that day. Next day at noon he went to the -forester's hut. Daniel stood at the door and silently and significantly -nodded towards the wood. The blood rushed to Eugene's heart, he was -conscious of it and went to the kitchen-garden. No one was there. He -went to the bath-house—there was no one about, he looked in, came -out, and suddenly heard the crackling of a breaking twig. He looked -round—and she was standing in the thicket beyond the little ravine. -He rushed there across the ravine. There were nettles in it which he had -not noticed. They stung him and, losing the pince-nez from his nose, he -ran up the slope on the farther side. In a white embroidered apron, in a -red-brown skirt and a bright red kerchief, barefoot, fresh, firm, and -handsome, she stood shyly smiling. -</p> - -<p> -"There is a path leading round,—you should have gone round," she -said. "I came long ago, ever so long." -</p> - -<p> -He went up to her and, looking her over, touched her. -</p> - -<p> -A quarter of an hour later they separated; he found his pince-nez, -called in to see Daniel, and in reply to his question: "Are you -satisfied, master?" gave him a ruble and went home. -</p> - -<p> -He was satisfied. Only at first had he felt ashamed, then it had passed -off. And it had all gone well. The best thing was that he now felt at -ease, tranquil and vigorous. As for her, he had not even seen her -thoroughly. He remembered that she was clean, fresh, not bad-looking, -and simple, without any pretence. "Whose wife is she?" said he to -himself. "Pechnikov's, Daniel said. What Pechnikov is that? There are -two households of that name. Probably she is old Michael's -daughter-in-law. Yes, that must be it. His son does live in Moscow. I'll -ask Daniel about it some time." -</p> - -<p> -From then onward that previously important drawback to country -life—enforced self-restraint—was eliminated. Eugene's freedom -of mind was no longer disturbed and he was able to attend freely to his -affairs. -</p> - -<p> -And the matter Eugene had undertaken was far from easy: it sometimes -seemed to him that he would not be able to go through with it, and that -it would end in his having to sell the estate after all, so that all his -efforts would be wasted and it would turn out that he had failed, and -been unable to accomplish what he had undertaken. That prospect -disturbed him most of all. Before he had time to stop up one hole a new -one would unexpectedly show itself. -</p> - -<p> -All this time more and more debts of his father's, which he had not -expected, came to light. It was evident that his father had latterly -borrowed right and left. At the time of the settlement in May, Eugene -had thought he at last knew everything, but suddenly, in the middle of -the summer, he received a letter from which it appeared that there was -still a debt of 12,000 rubles to the widow Esipova. There was no -promissory note, but only an ordinary receipt, which his lawyer told him -could be disputed. But it did not enter Eugene's head to refuse to pay a -debt of his father's merely because the document could be challenged. He -only wanted to know for certain whether there had been such a debt. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma! Who is Kaleriya Vladimirovna Esipova?" he asked his mother, when -they met as usual for dinner. -</p> - -<p> -"Esipova? She was brought up by your grandfather. Why?" -</p> - -<p> -Eugene told his mother about the letter. -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder she is not ashamed to ask for it. Your father gave her so -much!" -</p> - -<p> -"But do we owe her this?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well now, how shall I say? It is not a debt. Papa, out of his unbounded -kindness . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, but did Papa consider it a debt?" -</p> - -<p> -"I cannot say. I don't know. I only know it is hard enough for you -without that." -</p> - -<p> -Eugene saw that Mary Pavlovna did not know what to say, and was as it -were sounding him. -</p> - -<p> -"I see from what you say, that it must be paid," said the son. "I will -go to see her to-morrow and have a chat, and see if it cannot be -deferred." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, how sorry I am for you, but, you know, that will be best. Tell her -she must wait," said Mary Pavlovna, evidently tranquillized and proud of -her son's decision. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene's position was particularly hard because his mother, who was -living with him, did not at all realize his position. She had been so -accustomed all her life long to live extravagantly that she could not -even imagine to herself the position her son was in, that is to say, -that to-day or to-morrow matters might shape themselves so that they -would have nothing left, and he would have to sell everything, and live -and support his mother on what salary he could earn, which at the very -most would be 2,000 rubles. She did not understand that they could only -save themselves from that position by cutting down expense in -everything, and so she could not understand why Eugene was so careful about -trifles, in expenditure on gardeners, coachmen, servants—even on -food. Also, like most widows, she nourished feelings of devotion to the -memory of her departed spouse quite different from those she had felt -for him while he lived, and she did not admit the thought that what the -departed had done, or had arranged, could be wrong or could be altered. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene by great efforts managed to keep up the garden and the -conservatory with two gardeners, and the stables with two coachmen. And -Mary Pavlovna naïvely thought that she was sacrificing herself for her -son and doing all a mother could do, by not complaining of the food -which the old man-cook prepared, of the fact that the paths in the park -were not all swept clean, and that instead of footmen they had only a -boy. -</p> - -<p> -So, too, concerning this new debt, in which Eugene saw an almost -crushing blow to all his undertakings, Mary Pavlovna only saw an -incident displaying Eugene's noble nature. -</p> - -<p> -Mary Pavlovna moreover did not feel much anxiety about Eugene's -position, because she was confident that he would make a brilliant -marriage which would put everything right. And he could make a very -brilliant marriage: she knew a dozen families who would be glad to give -their daughters to him. And she wished to arrange the matter as soon as -possible. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="IV"></a>IV</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -Eugene himself dreamt of marriage, but not in the same way as his -mother. The idea of using marriage as a means of putting his affairs in -order was repulsive to him. He wished to marry honourably, for love. He -observed the girls whom he met and those he knew, and compared himself -with them, but no decision had yet been taken. Meanwhile contrary to his -expectations his relations with Stepanida continued, and even acquired -the character of a settled affair. Eugene was so far from debauchery, it -was so hard for him secretly to do this thing which he felt to be bad, -that he could not arrange these meetings himself, and even after the -first one hoped not to see Stepanida again; but it turned out that after -some time the same restlessness (due, he believed, to that cause) again -overcame him. And his restlessness this time was no longer impersonal, -but suggested just those same bright, black eyes, and that deep voice, -saying, "ever so long," that same scent of something fresh and strong, -and that same full bread lifting the bib of her apron, and all this in -that hazel and maple thicket, bathed in bright sunlight. -</p> - -<p> -Though he felt ashamed, he again approached Daniel. And again a -rendezvous was fixed for midday, in the wood. This time Eugene looked -her over more carefully, and everything about her seemed attractive. He -tried talking to her, and asked about her husband. He really was -Michael's son, and lived as a coachman in Moscow. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, then, how is it you . . ." Eugene wanted to ask how it was she -was untrue to him. -</p> - -<p> -"What about 'how is it'?" asked she. Evidently she was clever and -quick-witted. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, how is it you come to me?" -</p> - -<p> -"There now," said she merrily. "I bet he goes on the spree there. Why -shouldn't I?" -</p> - -<p> -Evidently she was putting on an air of sauciness and assurance. And this -seemed charming to Eugene. But all the same he did not himself fix a -rendezvous with her. Even when she proposed that they should meet -without the aid of Daniel, to whom she seemed not very well-disposed, -Eugene did not consent. He hoped that this meeting would be the last. He -liked her. He thought such intercourse was necessary for him and that -there was nothing bad about it, but in the depth of his soul there was a -stricter judge, who did not approve of it and hoped that this would be -the last time, or if he did not hope that, at any rate did not wish to -participate in arrangements to repeat it another time. -</p> - -<p> -So the whole summer passed, during which they met a dozen times and -always by Daniel's help. It happened once that she could not be there -because her husband had come home, and Daniel proposed another woman, -but Eugene refused with disgust. Then the husband went away, and the -meetings continued as before, at first through Daniel, but afterwards he -simply fixed the time and she came with another woman, Prokhorova—as -it would not do for a peasant-woman to go about alone. -</p> - -<p> -Once at the very time fixed for the rendezvous a family came to call on -Mary Pavlovna, with the very girl she wished Eugene to marry, and it was -impossible for Eugene to get away. As soon as he could do so, he went -out as though to the thrashing-floor, and round by the path to their -meeting-place in the wood. She was not there, but at the accustomed spot -everything within reach of one's hand had been broken—the black -alder, the hazel-twigs, and even a young maple the thickness of a stake. -She had waited, had become excited and angry, and had skittishly left him a -remembrance. He waited, waited, and went to Daniel to ask him to call -her for to-morrow. She came, and was just as usual. -</p> - -<p> -So the summer passed. The meetings were always arranged in the wood, and -only once, when it grew towards autumn, in the shed that stood in her -back-yard. -</p> - -<p> -It did not enter Eugene's head that these relations of his had any -importance for him. About her he did not even think. He gave her money -and nothing more. At first he did not know and did not think that the -affair was known and she was envied throughout the village, or that her -relations took money from her and encouraged her, and that her -conception of any sin in the matter had been quite obliterated by the -influence of the money and her family's approval. It seemed to her that -if people envied her, then what she was doing was good. -</p> - -<p> -"It is simply necessary for one's health," thought Eugene. "I grant it -is not right, and though no one says anything, everybody, or many -people, know of it. The woman who comes with her knows. And once she -knows, she is sure to have told others. But what's to be done? I am -acting badly," thought Eugene, "but what's one to do? Anyhow it is not -for long." -</p> - -<p> -What chiefly disturbed Eugene was the thought of the husband. At first, -for some reason, it seemed to him that the husband must be a poor sort, -and this, as it were, partly justified his conduct. But he saw the -husband and was struck: he was a fine fellow and smartly dressed, in no -way a worse man, but surely better, than himself. At their next meeting -he told her he had seen her husband and had been surprised to see that -he was such a fine fellow. -</p> - -<p> -"There's not such another in the village," said she proudly. -</p> - -<p> -This surprised Eugene. The thought of the husband tormented him still -more after that. He happened to be at Daniel's one day and Daniel, -having begun chatting, plainly said to him: -</p> - -<p> -"And Michael, the other day, asked me: 'Is it true that the master is -living with my wife?' I said I did not know. Anyway, I said, better with -the master than with a peasant." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, and what did he say?" -</p> - -<p> -"He said,—'Wait a bit. I'll get to know, and I'll give it her all the -same.'" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, if the husband returned to live here, I would give her up," -thought Eugene. -</p> - -<p> -But the husband lived in town and for the present their intercourse -continued. -</p> - -<p> -"When necessary, I will break it off, and there will be nothing left of -it," thought he. -</p> - -<p> -And this seemed to him certain, especially as during the whole summer -many different things occupied him very fully: the erection of the new -farm-house, and the harvest, and building, and above all meeting the -debts and selling the waste land. All these were affairs that completely -absorbed him and on which he spent his thoughts when he lay down and when -he rose. All that was, real life. His intercourse—he did not even -call it connection—with Stepanida was something quite unnoticed. It -is true that when the wish to see her arose, it came with such strength -that he could think of nothing else. But this did not last long. A -meeting was arranged, and he again forgot her for a week or even for a -month. -</p> - -<p> -In autumn Eugene often rode to town, and there became friendly with the -Annenskis. They had a daughter who had just finished the Institute.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -And then, to Mary Pavlovna's great grief, it happened that Eugene, as -she expressed it, "cheapened himself,"—by falling in love with Liza -Annenskaya and proposing to her. -</p> - -<p> -From that time the relations with Stepanida ceased. -</p> - -<p><br></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="nind"><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>The Institute was a boarding-school for the daughters of -the nobility and gentry, in which great attention was paid to the -manners and accomplishments of the pupils.</p></div> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="V"></a>V</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -It is impossible to explain why Eugene chose Liza Annenskaya, as it is -never possible to explain why a man chooses this and not that woman. There -were many reasons—positive and negative. One reason was that she -was not a very rich heiress such as his mother sought for him, another -that she was naïve and to be pitied in her relations with her mother, -then there was the fact that she was not a beauty who attracted general -attention to herself, but yet was not bad looking. The chief reason was -that his acquaintance with her began at the time when Eugene was ripe -for marriage. He fell in love because he knew that he would marry. -</p> - -<p> -Liza Annenskaya was at first merely pleasing to Eugene, but when he -decided to make her his wife, his feelings for her became much stronger. -He felt that he was in love. -</p> - -<p> -Liza was tall, slender, and long. Everything about her was long; her -face, and her nose—not prominently but downwards—and her -fingers, and her feet. The colour of her face was very delicate, -yellowish white and delicately pink; her hair was long, light brown, -soft, curly, and she had beautiful, clear, mild, confiding eyes. Those -eyes especially struck Eugene. And when he thought of Liza he always saw -those clear, mild, confiding eyes. -</p> - -<p> -Such was she physically; spiritually he knew nothing of her, but only -saw those eyes. And those eyes seemed to tell him all he needed to know. -The meaning of those eyes was this: -</p> - -<p> -While still in the Institute, when she was fifteen, Liza used -continually to fall in love with all attractive men and was animated and -happy only when she was in love. After leaving the Institute she -continued to fall in love, in just the same way, with all the young men -she met, and of course fell in love with Eugene as soon as she made his -acquaintance. It was this being in love which gave her eyes that -particular expression which so captivated Eugene. Already that winter -she had been, at one and the same time, in love with two young men, and -blushed and became excited not only when they entered the room but -whenever their names were mentioned. But afterwards, when her mother -hinted to her that Irtenev seemed to have serious intentions, her love -for him increased so that she became almost indifferent to the two -previous attractions, and when Irtenev began to come to their balls and -parties, and danced with her more than with others and evidently only -wished to know whether she loved him, her love for him became painful. -She dreamed of him in her sleep and seemed to see him when she was awake -in a dark room, and everyone else vanished from her mind. But when he -proposed and they were formally engaged, and when they had kissed one -another and were a betrothed couple, then she had no thoughts but of -him, no desire but to be with him, to love him, and to be loved by him. -She was also proud of him and felt emotional about him and herself and -her love, and quite melted and felt faint from love of him. -</p> - -<p> -The more he got to know her the more he loved her. He had not at all -expected to find such love, and it strengthened his own feeling still -more. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="VI"></a>VI</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -Towards spring he went to his estate at Semënovskoe to have a look at -it and to give directions about the management, and especially about the -house which was being done up for his wedding. -</p> - -<p> -Mary Pavlovna was dissatisfied with her son's choice, not only because -the match was not as brilliant as it might have been, but also because -she did not like Varvara Alexeevna, his future mother-in-law. Whether -she was good-natured or not she did not know and could not decide, but -that she was not well-bred, not <i>comme il faut</i>, "not a lady" as Mary -Pavlovna said to herself,—she saw from their first acquaintance, and -this distressed her; distressed her because she was accustomed to value -breeding and knew that Eugene was sensitive to it, and she foresaw that -he would suffer much annoyance on this account. But she liked the girl. -Liked her chiefly because Eugene did. One could not help loving her. And -Mary Pavlovna was quite sincerely ready to do so. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene found his mother contented and in good spirits. She was getting -everything straight in the house and preparing to go away herself as -soon as he brought his young wife. Eugene persuaded her to stay for the -time being, and the future remained undecided. -</p> - -<p> -In the evening after tea Mary Pavlovna played patience as usual. Eugene -sat by, helping her. This was the hour of their most intimate talks. -Having finished one game of patience and while preparing to begin -another, Mary Pavlovna looked up at Eugene and, with a little -hesitation, began thus: -</p> - -<p> -"I wanted to tell you, Jenya,—of course I do not know, but in general -I wanted to suggest to you that before your wedding it is absolutely -necessary to have finished with all your bachelor affairs, so that -nothing may disturb either you or your wife. God forbid that it should. -You understand me?" -</p> - -<p> -And indeed Eugene at once understood that Mary Pavlovna was hinting at -his relations with Stepanida which had ended in the previous autumn; and -that she attributed much more importance to those relations than they -deserved, as single women always do. Eugene blushed, and not from shame -so much as from vexation that good-natured Mary Pavlovna was -bothering—out of affection no doubt—but still was bothering -about matters that were not her business and that she did not and could not -understand. He answered that he had nothing that needed concealment, and -that he had always conducted himself so that there should be nothing to -hinder his marrying. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, dear, that is excellent. Only, Jenya, don't be vexed with me," -said Mary Pavlovna, in confusion. -</p> - -<p> -But Eugene saw that she had not finished and had not said what she -wanted to. So it appeared when a little later she began to tell him of -how, in his absence, she had been asked to stand godmother at . . . the -Pechnikovs. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene flushed now, not with vexation or shame, but with some strange -consciousness of the importance of what was about to be told him—an -involuntary consciousness quite at variance with his conclusions. And -what he expected happened. Mary Pavlovna, as if merely by way of -conversation, mentioned that this year only boys were being -born,—evidently a sign of a coming war. Both at the Vasins and the -Pechnikovs the young wife had a first child—at each house a boy. Mary -Pavlovna wanted to say this casually, but she herself felt ashamed when -she saw the colour mount to her son's face and saw him nervously -removing, tapping, and replacing his pince-nez and hurriedly lighting a -cigarette. She became silent. He too was silent and could not think how -to break that silence. So they both understood that they had understood -one another. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, the chief thing is that there should be justice and no favouritism -in the village,—as under your grandfather." -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma,"—said Eugene suddenly,—"I know why you are saying this. -You have no need to be disturbed. My future family-life is so sacred to me -that I should not infringe it in any case. And as to what occurred in my -bachelor days, that is quite ended. I never formed any union and no one -has any claims on me." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I am glad," said his mother. "I know how noble your feelings -are." -</p> - -<p> -Eugene accepted his mother's words as a tribute due to him, and did not -reply. -</p> - -<p> -Next day he drove to town thinking of his fiancée and of anything in -the world except of Stepanida. But, as if purposely to remind him, on -approaching the church he met people walking and driving back from it. -He met old Matvey with Simon, some lads and girls, and then two women, -one elderly, the other smartly dressed with a bright red kerchief, who -seemed familiar. The woman was walking lightly, boldly, carrying a child -in her arms. He came up to them, the elder woman bowed, stopping in the -old-fashioned way, but the young woman with the child only bent her -head, and from under the kerchief gleamed familiar, merry, smiling eyes. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, this was she, but all was over and it was no use looking at her: -"and the child may be mine," flashed through his mind. No, what -nonsense! There was her husband, she used to see him. He did not even -consider the matter further, so settled in his mind was it that it had -been necessary for his health,—he had paid her money and there was no -more to be said; there was, there had been, and there could be, no -question of any union between them. It was not that he stifled the voice -of conscience, no—his conscience simply said nothing to him. And he -thought no more about her after the conversation with his mother and -after this meeting. Nor did he meet her again. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene was married in town the week after Easter, and left at once with -his young wife for his country estate. The house had been arranged as -usual for a young couple. Mary Pavlovna wished to leave, but Eugene and -still more strongly Liza begged her to remain, and she only moved into a -detached wing of the house. -</p> - -<p> -And so a new life began for Eugene. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="VII"></a>VII</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -The first year of his marriage was a hard one for Eugene. It was hard -because affairs he had managed to put off during the time of his -courtship now, after his marriage, all came upon him at once. -</p> - -<p> -To escape from debts was impossible. An outlying part of the estate was -sold and the most pressing obligations met, but others remained, and he -had no money. The estate yielded a good revenue, but he had had to send -payments to his brother, and to spend on his own marriage, so that there -was no ready money and the factory could not carry on and would have to -be closed down. The only way of escape was to use his wife's money. -Liza, having realized her husband's position, insisted on this herself. -Eugene agreed, but only on condition that he should give her a mortgage -on half his estate; and this he did. Of course it was not for the sake -of his wife, who felt offended at it, but to appease his mother-in-law. -</p> - -<p> -These affairs, with various fluctuations of success and failure, helped -to poison Eugene's life that first year. Another thing was his wife's -ill-health. That same first year, seven months after their marriage, in -autumn, a misfortune befell Liza. She drove out to meet her husband who -was returning from town; the quiet horse became rather playful, -and she was frightened and jumped out. Her jump was comparatively -fortunate—she might have been caught by the wheel—but she -was pregnant, and that same night the pains began and she had a -miscarriage from which she was long in recovering. The loss of the -expected child and his wife's illness, together with the disorder in his -affairs, and above all the presence of his mother-in-law, who arrived as -soon as Liza fell ill—all this together made the year still harder -for Eugene. -</p> - -<p> -But notwithstanding these difficult circumstances, towards the end of -the first year Eugene felt very well. First of all his cherished hope of -restoring his fallen fortune and renewing his grandfather's way of life -in a new form, was approaching accomplishment, though slowly and with -difficulty. There was no longer any question of having to sell the whole -estate to meet the debts. The chief estate, though transferred to his -wife's name, was saved, and if only the beet crop succeeded and the -price kept up, by next year his position of want and stress might be -replaced by one of complete prosperity. That was one thing. -</p> - -<p> -Another was that however much he had expected from his wife, he had -never expected to find in her what he actually found. It was not -what he had expected, but it was much better. Emotion, raptures of -love—though he tried to produce them—did not take place or -were very slight, but something quite different appeared, namely, that -he was not merely more cheerful and happier but that it became easier to -live. He did not know why this should be so, but it was. -</p> - -<p> -It happened because immediately after the marriage she decided that -Eugene Irtenev was superior to, wiser, purer, and nobler than, anyone -else in the world, and therefore it was right for everyone to serve him -and do what would please him; but as it was impossible to make everyone -do this, she to the limit of her strength must do it herself. So she did; -and therefore all her strength of mind was directed towards learning and -guessing what he liked, and then doing just that, whatever it was and -however difficult it might be. -</p> - -<p> -She had the gift which furnishes the chief delight of intercourse with a -loving woman; thanks to her love of her husband she penetrated into his -soul. She knew—better it seemed to him than he himself—his -every state, and every shade of his feeling, and she behaved -correspondingly, and therefore never hurt his feelings, but always -lessened his distresses and strengthened his joys. And she understood -not only his feelings but also his joys. Things quite foreign to -her—concerning the farming, the factory, or the appraisement of -others, she immediately understood so that she could not merely converse -with him, but could often, as he himself said, be a useful and -irreplaceable counsellor. She regarded affairs and people, and -everything in the world, only through his eyes. She loved her mother, -but having seen that Eugene disliked his mother-in-law's interference in -their life she immediately took her husband's side, and did so with such -decision that he had to restrain her. -</p> - -<p> -Besides all this she had very much taste, tact, and above all, -peacefulness. All that she did, she did unnoticed; only the results of -what she did were observable, namely, that always and in everything -there was cleanliness, order, and elegance. Liza had at once understood -in what her husband's ideal of life consisted, and she tried to attain, -and in the arrangement and order of the house did attain, what he -wanted. Children, it is true, were lacking, but there was hope of this -also. In winter she went to Petersburg to see a specialist, and he -assured them that she was quite well and could have children. -</p> - -<p> -And this desire was accomplished. By the end of the year she was again -pregnant. -</p> - -<p> -The one thing that threatened, not to say poisoned, their happiness -was her jealousy; a jealousy she restrained and did not exhibit, -but from which she often suffered. Not only might Eugene not love -anyone—because there was not a woman on earth worthy of him -(as to whether she herself was worthy or not, she never asked -herself),—but not a single woman might, therefore, dare to love -him. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="VIII"></a>VIII</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -They lived thus: he rose, as he always had done, early, and went to see -to the farm or the factory, where work was going on, or sometimes to the -fields. Towards ten o'clock he would come back to his coffee: they had -it on the verandah, Mary Pavlovna, an uncle who lived with them, and -Liza. After a conversation which was often very animated while they -drank their coffee, they dispersed till dinner-time. At two o'clock they -dined and then went for a walk, or a drive. In the evening when he -returned from his office they drank their evening tea, and sometimes he -read aloud while she worked, or when there were guests they had music or -talked. When he went away on business he wrote to his wife, and received -letters from her, every day. Sometimes she accompanied him, and then -they were particularly merry. On his name-day and on hers guests -assembled, and it was pleasant to him to see how well she managed to -arrange things so that it was pleasant for everybody. He saw, and heard -also, that they all admired her, the young, agreeable hostess, and he -loved her still more for this. -</p> - -<p> -All went excellently. She bore her pregnancy easily, and though they -were afraid, they both began making plans as to how they would bring the -child up. The system of education and the arrangements were all decided -by Eugene, and her only wish was obediently to carry out his desires. -Eugene on his part read up medical works, and intended to bring the -child up according to all the precepts of science. She, of course, -agreed to everything and made preparations, making warm and also cool -"envelopes,"<a name="FNanchor_2_1" id="FNanchor_2_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_1" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> and preparing a cradle. Thus the second year of their -marriage arrived, and the second spring. -</p> - -<p><br></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="nind"><a name="Footnote_2_1" id="Footnote_2_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_1"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>An "envelope" was a small mattress with attached -coverlet, on which babies were carried about.</p></div> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="IX"></a>IX</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -It was just before Trinity Sunday. Liza was in her fifth month, and, -though careful, she was brisk and active. Both the mothers, his and -hers, were living in the house, but under pretext of watching and -safeguarding her only upset her by their tiffs. Eugene was specially -engrossed with a new experiment for the cultivation of sugar-beet on a -large scale. -</p> - -<p> -Just before Trinity Liza decided that it was necessary to have a -thorough house-cleaning, as it had not been done since Easter, and she -hired two women by the day, to help the servants wash the floors and -windows, beat the furniture and the carpets, and put covers on them. The -women came early in the morning, heated the coppers, and set to work. -One of the two was Stepanida, who had just weaned her baby boy. Through -the office-clerk—whom she now carried on with—she had begged -for the job of washing the floors. She wanted to have a good look at the -new mistress. Stepanida was living by herself, as formerly, her husband -being away, and she was up to tricks, as she had formerly been first -with old Daniel (who had once caught her taking some logs of firewood), -afterwards with the master, and now with the young clerk. She was not -concerning herself any longer about her master. "He has a wife now," she -thought. But it would be good to have a look at the lady and at her -establishment: folk said it was well arranged. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene had not seen her since he had met her with the child. Having a -baby to attend to she had not been going out to work, and he seldom -walked through the village. That morning, on the eve of Trinity Sunday, -Eugene rose at five o'clock and rode to the fallow land which was to be -sprinkled with phosphates, and he left the house before the women were -about it, and while they were still engaged lighting the copper fires. -</p> - -<p> -Merry, contented, and hungry, Eugene returned to breakfast. He -dismounted from his mare at the gate and handed her over to the -gardener. Flicking the high grass with his whip and repeating, as one -often does, a phrase he had just uttered, he walked towards the house. -The phrase he repeated was: "phosphates justify"—what or to whom he -neither knew nor reflected. -</p> - -<p> -They were beating a carpet on the grass. The furniture had been brought -out. -</p> - -<p> -"There now! What a house-cleaning Liza has undertaken! . . . Phosphates -justify. . . . What a manageress she is! A manageress! Yes, a -manageress," said he to himself, vividly imagining her in her white -wrapper and with her smiling joyful face, as it nearly always was when -he looked at her. "Yes, I must change my boots, or else 'phosphates -justify,' that is, smell of manure, and the manageress is in such a -condition. Why 'in such a condition'? Because a new little Irtenev is -growing there inside her," he thought. "Yes, phosphates justify," and -smiling at his thoughts he put his hand to the door of his room. -</p> - -<p> -But he had not time to push the door before it opened of itself and he -met, face to face, a woman coming towards him carrying a pail, barefoot, -and with sleeves turned up high. He stepped aside to let her pass, she -too stepped aside, adjusting her kerchief with a wet hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Go on, go on, I won't go there, if you . . ." began Eugene and, -suddenly, recognizing her, stopped. -</p> - -<p> -She glanced merrily at him with smiling eyes, and pulling down her skirt -went out by the door. -</p> - -<p> -"What nonsense! . . . It is impossible," said Eugene to himself, -frowning and waving his hand as though to get rid of a fly, displeased -at having noticed her. He was vexed that he had noticed her and yet he -could not take his eyes from her strong body, swayed by the agile -strides of her bare feet, or from her arms, shoulders, and the pleasing -folds of her shirt and handsome skirt, tucked up high above her white -calves. -</p> - -<p> -"But why am I looking?" said he to himself, lowering his eyes so as not -to see her. "But anyhow I must go in to get some other boots." And he -turned back to go into his own room, but had not gone five steps before, -without knowing why or wherefore, he again glanced round to have another -look at her. She was just going round the corner and also glanced at -him. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, what am I doing!" said he to himself. "She may think . . . It is -even certain that she already does think . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He entered his damp room. Another woman, an old and skinny one, was -there, and was still washing it. Eugene passed on tiptoe across the -floor wet with dirty water to the wall where his boots stood, and he was -about to leave the room, when the woman herself went out. -</p> - -<p> -"This one has gone and the other, Stepanida, will come here alone," -someone within him began to reflect. -</p> - -<p> -"My God, what am I thinking of and what am I doing!" He seized his boots -and ran out with them into the hall, put them on there, brushed himself, -and went out on to the verandah where both the mammas were already -drinking coffee. Liza had evidently been expecting him and came on to -the verandah through another door at the same time. -</p> - -<p> -"My God! If she, who considers me so honourable, pure, and -innocent,—if she only knew!"—thought he. -</p> - -<p> -Liza, as usual, met him with shining face. But to-day somehow she seemed -to him particularly pale, yellow, long, and weak. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="X"></a>X</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -During coffee, as often happened, a peculiarly feminine kind of -conversation went on which had no logical sequence, but which evidently -was connected in some way for it went on uninterruptedly. -</p> - -<p> -The two old ladies were pin-pricking one another, and Liza was skilfully -manœuvring between them. -</p> - -<p> -"I am so vexed that we had not finished washing your room before you got -back," she said to her husband. "But I do so want to get everything -arranged." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, did you sleep well after I got up?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I slept well, and I feel well." -</p> - -<p> -"How can a woman be well in her condition during this intolerable heat, -when her windows face the sun," said Varvara Alexeevna, her mother. "And -they have no venetian-blinds or awnings. I always had awnings." -</p> - -<p> -"But you know we are in the shade after ten o'clock," said Mary -Pavlovna. -</p> - -<p> -"That's what causes fever; it comes of dampness," said Varvara -Alexeevna, not noticing that what she was saying did not agree with what -she had just said. "My doctor always says that it is impossible to -diagnose an illness unless one knows the patient. And he certainly -knows, for he is the leading physician and we pay him a hundred rubles a -visit. My late husband did not believe in doctors, but he did not grudge -me anything." -</p> - -<p> -"How can a man grudge anything to a woman when perhaps her life and the -child's depend . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, when she has means, a wife need not depend on her husband. A good -wife submits to her husband," said Varvara Alexeevna,—"only Liza is -too weak after her illness." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh no, mamma, I feel quite well. But why have they not brought you any -boiled cream?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't want any. I can do with raw cream." -</p> - -<p> -"I offered some to Varvara Alexeevna, but she declined," said Mary -Pavlovna, as if justifying herself. -</p> - -<p> -"No, I don't want any to-day." And as if to terminate an unpleasant -conversation and yield magnanimously, Varvara Alexeevna turned to Eugene -and said: "Well, and have you sprinkled the phosphates?" -</p> - -<p> -Liza ran to fetch the cream. -</p> - -<p> -"But I don't want it. I don't want it." -</p> - -<p> -"Liza, Liza, go gently,"—said Mary Pavlovna. "Such rapid movements do -her harm." -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing does harm, if one's mind is at peace," said Varvara Alexeevna -as if referring to something, though she knew that there was nothing -that her words could refer to. -</p> - -<p> -Liza returned with the cream, Eugene drank his coffee and listened -morosely. He was accustomed to these conversations, but to-day he was -particularly annoyed by its lack of sense. He wanted to think over what -had happened to him, but this chatter disturbed him. Having finished her -coffee Varvara Alexeevna went away in a bad humour. Liza, Eugene, and -Mary Pavlovna stayed behind, and their conversation was simple and -pleasant. But Liza, being sensitive, at once noticed that something was -tormenting Eugene, and she asked him whether anything unpleasant had -happened. He was not prepared for this question, and hesitated a little -before replying that there had been nothing unpleasant. And this reply -made Liza think all the more; that something was tormenting, and greatly -tormenting, him was as evident to her as the fact that a fly had fallen -into the milk, yet he did not speak of it. What could it be? -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XI"></a>XI</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -After breakfast they all dispersed. Eugene as usual went to his study. -He did not begin reading or writing his letters, but sat smoking one -cigarette after another and thinking. He was terribly surprised and -disturbed by the expected recrudescence within him of the bad feeling -from which he had thought himself free since his marriage. Since then he -had not once experienced that feeling, either for her—the woman he -had known—or for any other woman except his wife. He had often -felt glad of this emancipation, and now suddenly a chance meeting, -seemingly so unimportant, revealed to him the fact that he was not free. -What now tormented him was not that he was yielding to that feeling and -desired her—he did not dream of so doing—but that the -feeling was awake within him and he had to be on his guard against it. -He had no doubt but that he would suppress it. -</p> - -<p> -He had a letter to answer and a paper to write. He sat down at his -writing-table and began to work. Having finished it and quite forgotten -what had disturbed him, he went out to go to the stables. And again as -ill-luck would have it, either by unfortunate chance or intentionally, -as soon as he stepped from the porch, a red skirt and red kerchief -appeared from round the corner, and she went past him swinging her arms -and swaying her body. She not only went past him, but on passing him -ran, as if playfully, to overtake her fellow-servant. -</p> - -<p> -Again the bright midday, the nettles, the back of Daniel's hut, and in -the shade of the plane-trees her smiling face biting some leaves, rose -in his imagination. -</p> - -<p> -"No, it is impossible to let matters continue so," he said to himself, -and waiting till the women had passed out of sight he went to the -office. -</p> - -<p> -It was just the dinner-hour and he hoped to find the steward still -there. So it happened. The steward was just waking up from his -after-dinner nap. Standing in the office, stretching himself and -yawning, he was looking at the herdsman who was telling him something. -</p> - -<p> -"Vasili Nikolaich!" said Eugene to the steward. -</p> - -<p> -"What is your pleasure?" -</p> - -<p> -"I want to speak to you." -</p> - -<p> -"What is your pleasure?" -</p> - -<p> -"Just finish what you are saying." -</p> - -<p> -"Aren't you going to bring it in?" said Vasili Nikolaich to the -herdsman. -</p> - -<p> -"It's heavy, Vasili Nikolaich." -</p> - -<p> -"What is it?" asked Eugene. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, a cow has calved in the meadow. Well, all right, I'll order them -to harness a horse at once. Tell Nicholas Lysukh to get out the dray -cart." -</p> - -<p> -The herdsman went out. -</p> - -<p> -"Do you know," began Eugene, flushing and conscious that he was doing -so, "do you know, Vasili Nikolaich, while I was a bachelor I went off -the track a bit. . . . You may have heard . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Vasili Nikolaich with smiling eyes and evidently sorry for his master, -said: "Is it about Stepanida?" -</p> - -<p> -"Why, yes. Look here. Please, please do not engage her to help in the -house. You understand, it is very awkward for me . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, it must have been Vanya, the clerk, who arranged it." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, please. . . . Well, and hadn't the rest of the phosphates better -be strewn?" said Eugene, to hide his confusion. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I am just going to see to it." -</p> - -<p> -So it ended. And Eugene calmed down, hoping that as he had lived for a -year without seeing her, so things would go on now. "Besides, Vasili -Nikolaich will speak to Ivan the clerk; Ivan will speak to her, and she -will understand that I don't want it," said Eugene to himself, and he was -glad that he had forced himself to speak to Vasili Nikolaich, hard as it -had been to do so. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, it is better, better, than that feeling of doubt, that feeling of -shame." He shuddered at the mere remembrance of his sin in thought. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XII"></a>XII</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -The moral effort he had made to overcome his shame and speak to Vasili -Nikolaich, tranquillized Eugene. It seemed to him that the matter was -all over now. Liza at once noticed that he was quite calm, and even -happier than usual. "No doubt he was upset by our mothers pin-pricking -one another. It really is disagreeable, especially for him who is so -sensitive and noble, always to hear such unfriendly and ill-mannered -insinuations," thought she. -</p> - -<p> -The next day was Trinity Sunday. The weather was beautiful, and the -peasant-women, according to custom, on their way into the woods to plait -wreaths, came to the landowner's home and began to sing and dance. Mary -Pavlovna and Varvara Alexeevna came out on to the porch in smart -clothes, carrying sunshades, and went up to the ring of singers. With -them, in a jacket of Chinese silk, came out the uncle, a flabby -libertine and drunkard, who was living that summer with Eugene. -</p> - -<p> -As usual there was a bright, many-coloured ring of young women and -girls, the centre of everything, and around these from different sides -like attendant planets that had detached themselves and were circling -round, went girls hand in hand, rustling in their new print gowns; young -lads giggling and running backwards and forwards after one another; -full-grown lads in dark blue or black coats and caps and with red -shirts, who unceasingly spat out sunflower-seed shells; and the domestic -servants or other outsiders watching the dance-circle from aside. Both -the old ladies went close up to the ring, and Liza accompanied them in a -light blue dress, with light blue ribbons on her head, and with wide -sleeves under which her long white arms and angular elbows were visible. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene did not wish to come out, but it was ridiculous to hide, and he -too came out on to the porch smoking a cigarette, bowed to the men and -lads, and talked with one of them. The women meanwhile shouted a -dance-song with all their might, snapping their fingers, clapping their -hands, and dancing. -</p> - -<p> -"They are calling for the master," said a youngster, coming up to -Eugene's wife who had not noticed the call. Liza called Eugene to look -at the dance and at one of the women dancers who particularly pleased -her. This was Stepanida. She wore a yellow skirt, a velveteen sleeveless -jacket and a silk kerchief, and was broad, energetic, ruddy, and merry. -No doubt she danced well. He saw nothing. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes," said he, removing and replacing his pince-nez. "Yes, yes," -repeated he. "So it seems I cannot be rid of her," he thought. -</p> - -<p> -He did not look at her as he was afraid of her attraction, and just on -that account what his passing glance caught of her seemed to him -especially attractive. Besides this he saw by her sparkling look that -she saw him and saw that he admired her. He stood there as long as -propriety demanded, and seeing that Varvara Alexeevna had called her, -senselessly and insincerely, "my dear," and was talking to her, he -turned aside and went away. -</p> - -<p> -He went into the house. He retired in order not to see her, but on -reaching the upper story, without knowing how or why, he approached the -window, and as long as the women remained at the porch he stood there -and looked and looked at her, feasting his eyes on her. -</p> - -<p> -He ran, while there was no one to see him, and then went with quiet -steps on to the verandah, and from there, smoking a cigarette and as if -going for a stroll, he passed through the garden and followed the -direction she had taken. He had not gone two steps along the alley -before he noticed behind the trees a velveteen sleeveless jacket, with a -pink and yellow skirt and a red kerchief. She was going somewhere with -another woman. "Where are they going?" -</p> - -<p> -And suddenly a terrible desire scorched him, as though a hand were -seizing his heart. As if by someone else's wish he looked round and went -towards her. -</p> - -<p> -"Eugene Ivanich, Eugene Ivanich! I have come to see your honour," said a -voice behind him, and Eugene, seeing old Samokhin, who was digging a -well for him, roused himself and, turning quickly round, went to meet -Samokhin. While speaking with him he turned sideways and saw that she -and the woman who was with her went down the slope, evidently to the -well, or making an excuse of the well, and having stopped there a little -while, ran back to the dance-circle. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XIII"></a>XIII</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -After talking to Samokhin, Eugene returned to the house as depressed as -if he had committed a crime. In the first place she had understood him, -believed that he wanted to see her, and desired it herself. Secondly, -that other woman, Anna Prokhorova, evidently knew of it. -</p> - -<p> -Above all, he felt that he was conquered, that he was not master of his -own will but that there was another power moving him, that he had been -saved only by good fortune, and that, if not to-day, to-morrow or a day -later, he would perish all the same. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, perish," he did not understand it otherwise: to be unfaithful to -his young and loving wife with a peasant woman in the village, in the -sight of everyone,—what was it but to perish, perish utterly, so that -it would be impossible to live? No, something must be done. -</p> - -<p> -"My God, my God! What am I to do? Can it be that I shall perish like -this?" said he to himself. "Is it not possible to do anything? Yet -something must be done. Do not think about her"—he ordered himself. -"Do not think!" and immediately he began thinking and seeing her before -him, and seeing also the shade of the plane tree. -</p> - -<p> -He remembered having read of a hermit who, to avoid the temptation he -felt for a woman on whom he had to lay his hand to heal her, thrust his -other hand into a brazier and burnt his fingers. He called that to mind. -"Yes, I am ready to burn my fingers rather than to perish." He looked -round to make sure that there was no one in the room, lit a candle, and -put a finger into the flame. "There now think about her," he said to -himself ironically. It hurt him and he withdrew his smoke-stained -finger, threw away the match, and laughed at himself. What nonsense! -That was not what had to be done. But it was necessary to do something, -to avoid seeing her—either to go away himself or to send her away. -Yes,—send her away. Offer her husband money to remove to town, or to -another village. People would hear of it and would talk about it. Well, -what of that? At any rate it was better than this danger. "Yes, that -must be done," he said to himself; and at the very time he was looking -at her without moving his eyes. "Where is she going?" he suddenly asked -himself. She, as it seemed to him, had seen him at the window and now, -having glanced at him and taken another woman by the hand, was going -towards the garden swinging her arm briskly. Without knowing why or -wherefore, merely in accord with what he had been thinking, he went to -the office. -</p> - -<p> -Vasili Nikolaich in holiday costume and with oiled hair was sitting at -tea with his wife and a guest who was wearing an oriental kerchief. -</p> - -<p> -"I want a word with you, Vasili Nikolaich!" -</p> - -<p> -"Please say what you want to. We have finished tea." -</p> - -<p> -"No. I'd rather you came out with me." -</p> - -<p> -"Directly; only let me get my cap. Tanya, put out the samovar,"—said -Vasili Nikolaich, stepping outside cheerfully. -</p> - -<p> -It seemed to Eugene that Vasili had been drinking, but what was to be -done? It might be all the better—he would sympathize with him in his -difficulties the more readily. -</p> - -<p> -"I have come again to speak about that same matter, Vasili Nikolaich," -said Eugene,—"about that woman." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, what of her? I told them not to take her again on any account." -</p> - -<p> -"No, I have been thinking in general, and this is what I wanted to take -your advice about. Isn't it possible to get them away, to send the whole -family away?" -</p> - -<p> -"Where can they be sent?" said Vasili, disapprovingly and ironically as -it seemed to Eugene. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I thought of giving them money, or even some land in -Koltovski,—so that she should not be here." -</p> - -<p> -"But how can they be sent away? Where is he to go—torn up from his -roots? And why should you do it? What harm can she do you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, Vasili Nikolaich, you must understand that it would be dreadful for -my wife to hear of it." -</p> - -<p> -"But who will tell her?" -</p> - -<p> -"How can I live with this dread? The whole thing is very painful for -me." -</p> - -<p> -"But really, why should you distress yourself? Whoever stirs up the -past—out with his eye! Who is not a sinner before God and to blame -before the Tsar, as the saying is?" -</p> - -<p> -"All the same it would be better to get rid of them. Can't you speak to -the husband?" -</p> - -<p> -"But it is no use speaking! Eh, Eugene Ivanich, what is the matter with -you? It is all past and forgotten. All sorts of things happen. Who is -there that would now say anything bad of you? Everybody sees you." -</p> - -<p> -"But all the same go and have a talk with him." -</p> - -<p> -"All right, I will speak to him." -</p> - -<p> -Though he knew that nothing would come of it, this talk somewhat calmed -Eugene. Above all, it made him feel that through excitement he had been -exaggerating the danger. -</p> - -<p> -Had he gone to meet her by appointment? It was impossible. He had simply -gone to stroll in the garden and she had happened to run out at the same -time. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XIV"></a>XIV</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -After dinner that very Trinity Sunday Liza while walking from the garden -to the meadow, where her husband wanted to show her the clover, took a -false step and fell when crossing a little ditch. She fell gently, on -her side; but she gave an exclamation, and her husband saw an expression -in her face not only of fear but of pain. He wished to help her up, but -she motioned him away with her hand. -</p> - -<p> -"No, wait a bit, Eugene," she said, with a weak smile, and as it seemed -to him, she looked up guiltily. "My foot only gave way under me." -</p> - -<p> -"There, I always say," remarked Varvara Alexeevna, "can anyone in her -condition possibly jump over ditches?" -</p> - -<p> -"But no, mamma, it is all right. I shall get up directly." With her -husband's help she did get up, but immediately turned pale, and her face -showed fear. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I am not well," and she whispered something to her mother. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my God, what have you done! I said you ought not to go -there,"—cried Varvara Alexeevna. "Wait,—I will call the -servants. She must not walk. She must be carried!" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be afraid, Liza, I will carry you," said Eugene, putting his left -arm round her. "Hold me by the neck. Like that." And stooping down he -put his right arm under her knees and lifted her. He could never -afterwards forget the suffering and yet beatific expression of her face. -</p> - -<p> -"I am too heavy for you, dear,"—she said with a smile. "Mamma is -running, tell her!" And she bent towards him and kissed him. She -evidently wanted her mother to see how he was carrying her. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene shouted to Varvara Alexeevna not to hurry, and that he would -carry Liza home. Varvara Alexeevna stopped and began to shout still -louder. -</p> - -<p> -"You will drop her, you'll be sure to drop her. You want to destroy her. -You have no conscience!" -</p> - -<p> -"But I am carrying her excellently." -</p> - -<p> -"I do not want to watch you killing my daughter, and I can't." And she -ran round the bend in the alley. -</p> - -<p> -"Never mind, it will pass," said Liza, smiling. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes. If only it does not have consequences like last time." -</p> - -<p> -"No. I am not speaking of that. That is all right. I mean mamma. You are -tired. Rest a bit." -</p> - -<p> -But though he found it heavy, Eugene carried his burden proudly and -gladly to the house and did not hand her over to the housemaid and the -man-cook whom Varvara Alexeevna had found and sent to meet them. He -carried her to the bedroom and placed her on the bed. -</p> - -<p> -"Now go away," she said and drawing his hand to her she kissed it. -"Annushka and I will manage all right." -</p> - -<p> -Mary Pavlovna also ran in from her rooms in the wing. They undressed -Liza and laid her on the bed. Eugene sat in the drawing-room with a book -in his hand, waiting. Varvara Alexeevna went past him with such a -reproachfully gloomy air that he felt alarmed. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, how is it?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"How? What's the good of asking? It is probably what you wanted when you -made your wife jump over the ditch." -</p> - -<p> -"Varvara Alexeevna!" he cried. "This is impossible. If you want to -torment people and to poison their life,"—he wanted to say, "then go -elsewhere to do it," but he restrained himself. "How is it that it does -not hurt you?" -</p> - -<p> -"It is too late now." And shaking her cap in a triumphant manner she -passed out by the door. -</p> - -<p> -The fall had really been a bad one, Liza's foot had twisted awkwardly -and there was danger of her having another miscarriage. Everyone knew -that there was nothing to be done, but that she must just lie quietly, -yet all the same they decided to send for a doctor. -</p> - -<p> -"Dear Nikolay Semënich," wrote Eugene to the doctor, "you have always -been so kind to us, that I hope you will not refuse to come to my wife's -assistance. She . . ." and so on. Having written the letter he went to -the stables to arrange about the horses and the carriage. Horses had to -be got ready to bring the doctor, and others to take him back. When an -estate is not run on a large scale, such things cannot be quickly -decided but have to be considered. Having arranged it all and dispatched -the coachman, it was past nine before he got back to the house. His wife -was lying down, and said that she felt perfectly well and had no pain. -But Varvara Alexeevna was sitting with a lamp screened from Liza by some -sheets of music and knitting a large red coverlet, with a mien that said -that after what had happened peace was impossible; but that no matter -what anyone else did, she at any rate would do her duty. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene noticed this but, to appear as if he had not seen it, he tried to -assume a cheerful and tranquil air and told how he had chosen the horses -and how the mare, Kabushka, had galloped capitally as left trace-horse -in the troika. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, of course, it is just the time to exercise the horses when help is -needed. Probably the doctor will also be thrown into the ditch," -remarked Varvara Alexeevna, examining her knitting from under her -pince-nez and moving it close up to the lamp. -</p> - -<p> -"But you know we had to send one way or other, and I made the best -arrangement I could." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I remember very well how your horses galloped with me under the -gateway arch." This was her long-standing fancy, and Eugene now was -injudicious enough to remark that was not quite what had happened. -</p> - -<p> -"It is not for nothing that I have always said, and have often remarked -to the prince, that it is hardest of all to live with people who are -untruthful and insincere; I can endure anything except that." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, if anyone has to suffer more than another, it is certainly I," -said Eugene. "But you . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, it is evident." -</p> - -<p> -"What?" -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing, I am only counting my stitches." -</p> - -<p> -Eugene was standing at the time by the bed and Liza was looking at him, -and one of her moist hands outside the coverlet caught his hand and -pressed it. "Bear with her for my sake. You know she cannot prevent our -loving one another," was what her look said. -</p> - -<p> -"I won't do so again. It's nothing," whispered he, and he kissed her -damp, long hand and then her affectionate eyes, which closed while he -kissed them. -</p> - -<p> -"Can it be the same thing over again?" he asked. "How are you feeling?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am afraid to say, for fear of being mistaken, but I feel that he is -alive and will live," said she, glancing at her stomach. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, it is dreadful, dreadful to think of." -</p> - -<p> -Notwithstanding Liza's insistence that he should go away, Eugene spent -the night with her, hardly closing an eye and ready to attend on her. -</p> - -<p> -But she passed the night well, and had they not sent for the doctor she -would perhaps have got up. -</p> - -<p> -By dinner-time the doctor arrived and of course said that, though if the -symptoms recurred there might be cause for apprehension, yet actually -there were no positive symptoms, but as there were also no contrary -indications one might suppose on the one hand that—and on the other -hand that. . . . And therefore she must lie still, and that "though I do -not like prescribing, yet all the same she should take this mixture and -should lie quiet." Besides this, the doctor gave Varvara Alexeevna a -lecture on woman's anatomy, during which Varvara Alexeevna nodded her -head significantly. Having received his fee, as usual into the backmost -part of his palm, the doctor drove away and the patient was left to lie -in bed for a week. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XV"></a>XV</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -Most of his time Eugene spent by his wife's bedside, talking to her, -reading to her, and what was hardest of all, enduring without murmur -Varvara Alexeevna's attacks, and even contriving to turn these into -jokes. -</p> - -<p> -But he could not stay at home. In the first place his wife sent him -away, saying that he would fall ill if he always remained with her; and, -secondly, the farming was progressing in a way that demanded his -presence at every step. He could not stay at home; but was in the -fields, in the wood, in the garden, at the thrashing-floor; and -everywhere, not merely the thought but the vivid image of Stepanida -pursued him, and he only occasionally forgot her. But that would not -have mattered, he could perhaps have mastered his feeling; but what was -worst of all was that, whereas he had previously lived for months -without seeing her, he now continually came across her. She evidently -understood that he wished to renew relations with her, and tried to come -in his way. Nothing was said either by him or by her, and therefore -neither he nor she went directly to a rendezvous, but only sought -opportunities of meeting. -</p> - -<p> -The place where it was possible for them to meet each other was in the -forest, where peasant-women went with sacks to collect grass for their -cows. Eugene knew this and therefore went every day by that wood. Every -day he told himself that he would not go there, and every day it ended -by his making his way to the forest and, on hearing the sound of voices, -standing behind the bushes with sinking heart looking to see if she was -there. -</p> - -<p> -Why he wanted to know whether it was she who was there, he did not know. -If it had been she and she had been alone, he would not have gone to -her—so he believed—he would have run away; but he wanted to -see her. -</p> - -<p> -Once he met her. As he was entering the forest she came out of it with -two other women, carrying a heavy sack, full of grass, on her back. A -little earlier he would perhaps have met her in the forest. But now, -with the other women there, she could not go back to him in the forest. -But though he realized this impossibility, he stood for a long time, at -the risk of attracting the other women's attention, behind a hazel-bush. -Of course she did not return, but he stayed there a long time. And, -great heavens, how delightful his imagination made her appear to him! -And this not once, but five or six times. And each time more intensely. -Never had she seemed so attractive, and never had he been so completely -in her power. -</p> - -<p> -He felt that he had lost control of himself and had become almost -insane. His strictness with himself was not weakened a jot; on the -contrary he saw all the abomination of his desire and even of his -action, for his going to the wood was an action. He knew that he only -need come near her anywhere in the dark, and if possible touch her, and -he would yield to his feelings. He knew that it was only shame before -people, before her, and no doubt before himself also, that restrained -him. And he knew too that he had sought conditions in which that shame -would not be apparent—darkness or proximity—in which it would -be stifled by animal passion. And therefore he knew that he was a wretched -criminal, and despised and hated himself with all his soul. He hated -himself because he still had not surrendered: every day he prayed God to -strengthen him, to save him from perishing; every day he determined that -from to-day onward he would not take a step to see her, and would forget -her. Every day he devised means of delivering himself from this -enticement, and he made use of those means. -</p> - -<p> -But it was all in vain. -</p> - -<p> -One of the means was continual occupation; another was intense physical -work and fasting; a third was imagining clearly to himself the shame -that would fall upon him when everybody knew of it—his wife, his -mother-in-law, and the folk around. He did all this, and it seemed to -him that he was conquering, but the hour came, midday: the hour of their -former meetings and the hour when he had met her carrying the grass, and -he went to the forest. Thus five days of torment passed. He only saw her -from a distance, but did not once encounter her. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XVI"></a>XVI</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -Liza was gradually recovering, she could move about and was only uneasy -at the change that had taken place in her husband, which she did not -understand. -</p> - -<p> -Varvara Alexeevna had gone away for a while and the only visitor was -Eugene's uncle. Mary Pavlovna was as usual at home. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene was in his semi-insane condition when there came two days of -pouring rain, as often happens after thunder in June. The rain stopped -all work. They even ceased carting manure, on account of the dampness -and dirt. The peasants remained at home. The herdsmen wore themselves -out with the cattle, and eventually drove them home. The cows and sheep -wandered about in the pastureland and ran loose in the grounds. The -peasant-women, barefoot and wrapped in shawls, splashing through the mud -rushed about to seek the runaway cows. Streams flowed everywhere along -the paths, all the leaves and all the grass were saturated with water, -and streams flowed unceasingly from the spouts into the bubbling -puddles. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene sat at home with his wife who was particularly wearisome that -day. She questioned Eugene several times as to the cause of his -discontent; and he replied with vexation that nothing was the matter. -She ceased questioning him, but was still distressed. -</p> - -<p> -They were sitting after breakfast in the drawing-room. His uncle for the -hundredth time was recounting fabrications about his society -acquaintances. Liza was knitting a jacket and sighed, complaining of the -weather and of a pain in the small of her back. The uncle advised her to -lie down, and asked for vodka for himself. It was terribly dull for -Eugene in the house. Everything was weak and dull. He read a book and a -magazine, but understood nothing of them. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I must go out and look at the rasping-machine they brought -yesterday," said he. He got up and went out. -</p> - -<p> -"Take an umbrella with you." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no, I have a leather coat. And I am only going as far as the -boiling-room." -</p> - -<p> -He put on his boots and his leather coat and went to the factory; but he -had not gone twenty steps before, coming towards him, he met her with -her skirts tucked up high above her white calves. She was walking, -holding down the shawl in which her head and shoulders were wrapped. -</p> - -<p> -"Where are you going?" said he, not recognizing her the first instant. -When he recognized her it was already too late. She stopped, smiling, and -looked long at him. -</p> - -<p> -"I am looking for a calf. Where are you off to in such weather?" said -she, as if she were seeing him every day. -</p> - -<p> -"Come to the shed," said he suddenly, without knowing how he said it. It -was as if someone else had uttered the words. -</p> - -<p> -She bit her shawl, winked, and ran in the direction which led from the -garden to the shed, but he continued his path, intending to turn off -beyond the lilac-bush and go there too. -</p> - -<p> -"Master," he heard a voice behind him. "The mistress is calling you, and -wants you to come back for a minute." -</p> - -<p> -This was Misha, his man-servant. -</p> - -<p> -"My God! This is the second time you have saved me," thought Eugene, and -immediately turned back. His wife reminded him that he had promised to -take some medicine at the dinner-hour to a sick woman, and he had better -take it with him. -</p> - -<p> -While they were getting the medicine some five minutes elapsed, and -then, going away with the medicine, he hesitated to go direct to the -shed, lest he should be seen from the house, but as soon as he was out -of sight he promptly turned and made his way to it. He already saw her -in imagination, inside the shed, smiling gaily. But she was not there, -and there was nothing in the shed to show that she had been there. -</p> - -<p> -He was already thinking that she had not come, had not heard or -understood his words—he had muttered them through his nose as if -afraid of her hearing them—or perhaps she had not wanted to come. -"And why did I imagine that she would rush to me? She has her own -husband; it is only I who am such a wretch as to have a wife, and a good -one, and to run after another." Thus he thought sitting in the shed, the -thatch of which had a leak and dripped from its straw. "But how -delightful it would be if she did come,—alone here in this rain. -If only I could embrace her once again; then let happen what may. But -yes," he recollected, "one could tell if she has been here by her -footprints." He looked at the trodden ground near the shed and at the -path overgrown by grass; and the fresh print of bare feet, and even of -one that had slipped, was visible. "Yes, she has been here. Well now it -is settled. Wherever I may see her I shall go straight to her. I will go -to her at night." He sat for a long time in the shed, and left it -exhausted and crushed. He delivered the medicine, returned home, and lay -down in his room to wait for dinner. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XVII"></a>XVII</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -Before dinner Liza came to him and, still wondering what could be the -cause of his discontent, began to say that she was afraid that he did -not like the idea of her going to Moscow for her confinement, and that -she had decided that she would remain at home and would on no account go -to Moscow. He knew how she feared both her confinement itself and the -risk of not having a healthy child, and therefore he could not help -being touched at seeing how ready she was to sacrifice everything for -his sake. All was so nice, so pleasant, so clean, in the house; and in -his soul it was so dirty, despicable, and horrid. The whole evening -Eugene was tormented by knowing that notwithstanding his sincere -repulsion at his own weakness, notwithstanding his firm intention to -break off,—the same thing would happen again to-morrow. -</p> - -<p> -"No, this is impossible," he said to himself, walking up and down in his -room. "There must be some remedy for it. My God! What am I to do?" -</p> - -<p> -Someone knocked at the door as foreigners do. He knew this must be his -uncle. "Come in," he said. -</p> - -<p> -The uncle had come as a self-appointed ambassador from Liza. -</p> - -<p> -"Do you know, I really do notice that there is a change in you," he -said,—"and Liza—I understand how it troubles her. I understand -that it must be hard for you to leave all the business you have so -excellently started, but <i>que veux-tu</i>?<a name="FNanchor_3_1" id="FNanchor_3_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_1" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> I should advise you to go -away. It will be more satisfactory both for you and for her. And do you -know, I should advise you to go to the Crimea. The climate is beautiful -and there is an excellent <i>accoucheur</i> there, and you would be just in -time for the best of the grape season." -</p> - -<p> -"Uncle," Eugene suddenly exclaimed. "Can you keep a secret? A secret -that is terrible to me, a shameful secret." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, come—do you really feel any doubt of me?" -</p> - -<p> -"Uncle, you can help me. Not only help, but save me!" said Eugene. And -the thought that he would disclose his secret to his uncle whom he did -not respect, the thought that he would show himself in the worst light -and humiliate himself before him, was pleasant. He felt himself to be -despicable and guilty, and wished to punish himself. -</p> - -<p> -"Speak, my dear fellow, you know how fond I am of you," said the uncle, -evidently well content that there was a secret and that it was a -shameful one, and that it would be communicated to him, and that he -could be of use. -</p> - -<p> -"First of all I must tell you that I am a wretch, a good-for-nothing, a -scoundrel—a real scoundrel." -</p> - -<p> -"Now what are you saying . . ." began his uncle, as if he were offended. -</p> - -<p> -"What! Not a wretch when I,—Liza's husband, Liza's! One has only to -know her purity, her love—and that I, her husband, want to be untrue -to her with a peasant-woman!" -</p> - -<p> -"How's that? Why do you want to—you have not been unfaithful to her?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, at least just the same as being untrue, for it did not depend on -me. I was ready to do so. I was hindered, or else I should . . . now. I -do not know what I should have done . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"But please, explain to me . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, it is like this. When I was a bachelor I was stupid enough to -have relations with a woman here in our village. That is to say, I used -to have meetings with her in the forest, in the field . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Was she pretty?" asked his uncle. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene frowned at this question, but he was in such need of external -help that he made as if he did not hear it, and continued: -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I thought this was just casual and that I should break it off and -have done with it. And I did break it off before my marriage. For nearly -a year I did not see her or think about her." It seemed strange to -Eugene himself to hear the description of his own condition,—"Then -suddenly, I don't myself know why,—really one sometimes believes in -witchcraft—I saw her, and a worm crept into my heart—and it -gnaws. I reproach myself, I understood the full horror of my action, that -is to say, of the act I may commit any moment, and yet I myself turned to -it, and if I have not committed it is only because God preserved me. -Yesterday I was on my way to see her when Liza sent for me." -</p> - -<p> -"What, in the rain?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes; I am worn out, Uncle, and have decided to confess to you and to -ask your help." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, of course, it's a bad thing on your own estate. People will get to -know. I understand that Liza is weak and that it is necessary to spare -her, but why on your own estate?" -</p> - -<p> -Again Eugene tried not to hear what his uncle was saying, and hurried on -to the core of the matter. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, save me from myself. That is what I ask of you. To-day I was -hindered by chance. But to-morrow or next time no one will hinder me. -And she knows now. Don't leave me alone." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, all right," said his uncle,—"but are you really so in love?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, it is not that at all. It is not that, it is some kind of power -that has seized me and holds me. I do not know what to do. Perhaps I -shall gain strength, and then . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, it turns out as I suggested," said his uncle. "Let us be off to -the Crimea." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes, let us go; and meanwhile you will be with me, and will talk -to me." -</p> - -<p><br></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="nind"><a name="Footnote_3_1" id="Footnote_3_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_1"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>What will you have?</p></div> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -The fact that Eugene had confided his secret to his uncle, but chiefly -the sufferings of his conscience and the feeling of shame he experienced -after that rainy day, sobered him. It was settled that they would start -for Yalta in a week's time. During that week Eugene drove to town to get -money for the journey, gave instructions from the house and from the -office concerning the management of the estate, again became gay and -friendly with his wife, and began to awaken morally. -</p> - -<p> -So without having once seen Stepanida after that rainy day he left with -his wife for the Crimea. There he spent an excellent two months. He -received so many new impressions that it seemed to him that the past was -obliterated from his memory. In the Crimea they met former acquaintances -and became particularly friendly with them, and they also made new -acquaintances. Life in the Crimea was a continual holiday for Eugene, -besides being instructive and beneficial. They became friendly there -with the former Marshal of the Nobility of their province; a clever and -Liberal-minded man, who became fond of Eugene and coached him, and -attracted him to his Party. -</p> - -<p> -At the end of August Liza gave birth to a beautiful, healthy daughter, -and her confinement was unexpectedly easy. -</p> - -<p> -In September they returned home, the four of them, including the baby -and its wet-nurse, as Liza was unable to nurse it herself. Eugene -returned home entirely free from the former horrors and quite a new and -happy man. Having gone through all that a husband goes through when his -wife bears a child, he loved his wife more than ever. His feeling for -the child when he took it in his arms, was a funny, new, very pleasant -and, as it were, a tickling feeling. Another new thing in his life now -was that, besides his occupation with the estate, thanks to his -acquaintance with Dumchin (the ex-Marshal) a new interest occupied his -mind, that of the Zemstvo—partly an ambitious interest, partly a -feeling of duty. In October there was to be a special Assembly, at which -he was to be elected. After arriving home he drove once to town and -another time to Dumchin. -</p> - -<p> -Of the torments of his temptation and struggle he had forgotten even to -think, and could with difficulty recall them to mind. It seemed to him -something like an attack of insanity he had undergone. -</p> - -<p> -To such an extent did he now feel free from it that he was not even -afraid to make inquiries on the first occasion when he remained alone -with the steward. As he had previously spoken to him about the matter he -was not ashamed to ask. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, and is Sidor Pechnikov still away from home?" he inquired. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, he is still in town." -</p> - -<p> -"And his wife?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, she is a worthless woman. She is now carrying on with Zenovi. She -has quite gone on the loose." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, that is all right," thought Eugene. "How wonderfully indifferent -to it I am! How I have changed." -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XIX"></a>XIX</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -All that Eugene had wished had been realized. He had obtained the -property, the factory was working successfully, the beet-crops were -excellent, and his expected income would be a large one; his wife had -borne a child satisfactorily, his mother-in-law had left, and he had -been unanimously elected to the Zemstvo. -</p> - -<p> -Eugene was returning home from town after the election. He had been -congratulated and had had to return thanks. He had had dinner and had -drunk some five glasses of champagne. Quite new plans of life now -presented themselves to him. He was driving home and thinking about -these. It was the Indian summer: an excellent road and a hot sun. As he -approached his home Eugene was thinking of how, as a result of this -election, he would occupy among the people the position of which he had -always dreamed; that is to say, one in which he would be able to serve -them not only by production, which gave employment, but also by direct -influence. He imagined how in another three years his own and the other -peasants would think of him. "For instance this one," he thought, -driving just then through the village and glancing at a peasant who with -a peasant-woman was crossing the street in front of him carrying a full -water-tub. They stopped to let his carriage pass. The peasant was old -Pechnikov, and the woman was Stepanida. Eugene looked at her, recognized -her, and was glad to feel that he remained quite tranquil. She was still -as good-looking as ever, but this did not touch him at all. He drove -home. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, may we congratulate you?" said his uncle. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I was elected." -</p> - -<p> -"Capital! We must drink to it!" -</p> - -<p> -Next day Eugene drove about to see to the farming which he had been -neglecting. At the outlying farmstead a new thrashing machine was at -work. While watching it Eugene stepped among the women, trying not to -take notice of them; but try as he would he once or twice noticed the -black eyes and red kerchief of Stepanida, who was carrying away the -straw. Once or twice he glanced sideways at her and felt that something -was happening, but could not account for it to himself. Only next day, -when he again drove to the thrashing-floor and spent two hours there -quite unnecessarily, without ceasing to caress with his eyes the -familiar, handsome figure of the young woman, did he feel that he was -lost, irremediably lost. Again those torments! Again all that horror and -fear, and there was no saving himself. -</p> - -<p><br></p> - -<p> -What he expected happened to him. The evening of the next day, without -knowing how, he found himself at her back-yard, by her hay-shed, where -in autumn they had once had a meeting. As though having a stroll, he -stopped there lighting a cigarette. A neighbouring peasant-woman saw him, -and as he turned back he heard her say to someone: "Go, he is waiting -for you,—on my dying word he is standing there. Go, you fool!" -</p> - -<p> -He saw how a woman—she—ran to the hay-shed; but as a peasant -had met him, it was no longer possible for him to turn back, and so he -went home. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XX"></a>XX</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -When he entered the drawing-room everything seemed strange and unnatural -to him. He had risen that morning vigorous, determined to fling it all -aside, to forget it and not to allow himself to think about it. But -without noticing how it occurred he had all the morning not merely not -interested himself in the work, but tried to avoid it. What had formerly -been important and had cheered him, was now insignificant. Unconsciously -he tried to free himself from business. It seemed to him that he had to -do so in order to think and to plan. And he freed himself and remained -alone. But as soon as he was alone he began to wander about in the -garden and the forest. And all those spots were besmirched in his -recollection by memories that gripped him. He felt that he was walking -in the garden and pretending to himself that he was thinking out -something, but that really he was not thinking out anything, but -insanely and unreasonably expecting her; expecting that by some miracle -she would be aware that he was expecting her, and would come here at -once and go somewhere where no one would see them, or would come at -night when there would be no moon and no one, not even she herself, -would see,—on such a night she would come and he would touch her -body. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"There now, talking of breaking off when I wish to," said he to himself. -"Yes, and that is having a clean healthy woman for one's health's sake! -No, it seems one can't play with her like that. I thought I had taken -her, but it was she who took me; took me and does not let me go. Why, I -thought I was free, but I was not free and was deceiving myself when I -married. It was all nonsense,—fraud. From the time I had her I -experienced a new feeling, the real feeling of a husband. Yes, I ought -to have lived with her. -</p> - -<p> -"One of two lives is possible for me: that which I began with Liza: -service, estate management, the child, and people's respect. If that is -life, it is necessary that she, Stepanida, should not be there. She must -be sent away, as I said, or destroyed so that she shall not exist. And -the other life—is this. For me to take her away from her husband, -pay him money, disregard the shame and disgrace, and live with her. But -in that case it is necessary that Liza should not exist, nor Mimi (the -baby). No, that is not so, the baby does not matter, but it is necessary -that there should be no Liza,—that she should go away—that -she should know, curse me, and go away. That she should know that I have -exchanged her for a peasant-woman, that I am a deceiver and a -scoundrel!—No, that is too terrible! It is impossible. But it -might happen," he went on thinking,—"it might happen that Liza -might fall ill and die. Die, and then everything would be capital. -</p> - -<p> -"Capital! Oh, scoundrel! No, if someone must die it should be she. If -she, Stepanida, were to die, how good it would be. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, that is how men come to poison or kill their wives or lovers. Take -a revolver and go and call her, and instead of embracing her, shoot her -in the breast and have done with it. -</p> - -<p> -"Really she is—a devil. Simply a devil. She has possessed herself of -me against my own will. -</p> - -<p> -"Kill? Yes. There are only two ways out: to kill my wife, or her. For it -is impossible to live like this.<a name="FNanchor_4_1" id="FNanchor_4_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_1" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> It is impossible. I must consider -the matter and look ahead. If things remain as they are what will -happen? I shall again be saying to myself that I do not wish it and that -I will throw her off, but I shall only say it, and in the evening I shall -be at her back-yard,—and she will know it and will come out. And -if people know of it and tell my wife, or if I tell her myself,—for I -can't lie—I shall not be able to live so. I cannot! People will know. -They will all know—Parasha and the blacksmith. Well, is it possible -to live so?" -</p> - -<p><br></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="nind"><a name="Footnote_4_1" id="Footnote_4_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_1"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>At this place the alternative ending, printed at the end of -the story, begins.</p></div> - -<p><br></p> - -<p> -"Impossible. There are only two ways out: to kill my wife, or to kill -her. Yes, or else . . . Ah, yes, there is a third way: to kill myself," -said he softly, and suddenly a shudder ran over his skin. "Yes, kill -myself, then I shall not need to kill them." He became frightened, for -he felt that only that way was possible. He had a revolver. "Shall I -really kill myself? It is something I never thought of,—how strange -it will be . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He returned to his study and at once opened the cupboard where the -revolver lay, but before he had taken it out of its case, his wife -entered the room. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="XXI"></a>XXI</h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -He threw a newspaper over the revolver. -</p> - -<p> -"Again the same!" said she aghast when she had looked at him. -</p> - -<p> -"What is the same?" -</p> - -<p> -"The same terrible expression that you had before and would not explain -to me. Jenya, dear one, tell me about it. I see that you are suffering. -Tell me and you will feel easier. Whatever it may be, it will be better -than for you to suffer so. Don't I know that it is nothing bad." -</p> - -<p> -"You know? While . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Tell me, tell me, tell me. I won't let you go." -</p> - -<p> -He smiled a piteous smile. -</p> - -<p> -"Shall I?—No, it is impossible. And there is nothing to tell." -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps he might have told her, but at that moment the wet-nurse entered -to ask if she should go for a walk. Liza went out to dress the baby. -</p> - -<p> -"Then you will tell me? I will be back directly." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, perhaps . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She never could forget the piteous smile with which he said this. She -went out. -</p> - -<p> -Hurriedly, stealthily like a robber, he seized the revolver and took it -out of its case. It was loaded, yes, but long ago, and one cartridge was -missing. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, how will it be?" He put it to his temple and hesitated a little, -but as soon as he remembered Stepanida,—his decision not to see her, -his struggle, temptation, fall, and renewed struggle,—he shuddered -with horror. "No, this is better," and he pulled the trigger . . . -</p> - -<p> -When Liza ran into the room—she had only had time to step down from -the balcony—he was lying face downwards on the floor: black, warm -blood was gushing from the wound, and his corpse was twitching. -</p> - -<p> -There was an inquest. No one could understand or explain the suicide. It -never even entered his uncle's head that its cause could be anything in -common with the confession Eugene had made to him two months previously. -</p> - -<p> -Varvara Alexeevna assured them that she had always foreseen it. It had -been evident from his way of disputing. Neither Liza nor Mary Pavlovna -could at all understand why it had happened, but still they did not believe -what the doctors said, namely, that he was mentally deranged—a -psychopath. They were quite unable to accept this, for they knew he was -saner than hundreds of their acquaintances. -</p> - -<p> -And indeed if Eugene Irtenev was mentally deranged everyone is similarly -insane; the most mentally deranged people are certainly those who see in -others indications of insanity they do not notice in themselves. -</p> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<h4><a id="VARIATION"></a>VARIATION OF THE CONCLUSION OF<br> -<i>THE DEVIL</i></h4> -<p><br></p> - -<p> -"To kill, yes. There were only two ways out: to kill his wife, or to -kill her. For it is impossible to live like this," said he to himself, -and going up to the table he took from it a revolver which, having -examined—one cartridge was wanting—he put in his trouser -pocket. -</p> - -<p> -"My God! What am I doing?" he suddenly exclaimed, and folding his hands -he began to pray. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, God, help me and deliver me. Thou knowest that I do not desire -evil, but by myself am powerless. Help me," said he, making the sign of -the cross on his breast before the icon. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I can control myself. I will go out, walk about and think things -over." -</p> - -<p> -He went to the entrance-hall, put on his overcoat and went out on to the -porch. Unconsciously his steps took him past the garden along the field -path to the outlying farmstead. There the thrashing machine was still -droning and the cries of the driver-lads were heard. He entered the -barn. She was there. He saw her at once. She was raking up the corn, and -on seeing him she, with laughing eyes, ran briskly and merrily over the -scattered corn, raking it up with agility. Eugene could not help -watching her though he did not wish it. He only recollected himself when -she was no longer in sight. The clerk informed him that they were now -finishing thrashing the corn that had been beaten down—that was why -it was going slower and the output was less. Eugene went up to the drum, -which occasionally gave a knock as sheaves not evenly fed in passed -under it, and he asked the clerk if there were many such sheaves of -beaten-down corn. -</p> - -<p> -"There will be five cartloads of it." -</p> - -<p> -"Then look here . . ." began Eugene, but he did not finish the sentence. -She had gone close up to the drum and was raking the corn from under it, -and she scorched him with her laughing eyes. That look spoke of a merry -careless love between them, of the fact that she knew he wanted her and -had come to her shed, and that she, as always, was ready to live and be -merry with him regardless of all conditions or consequences. Eugene felt -himself to be in her power, but did not wish to yield. -</p> - -<p> -He remembered his prayer and tried to repeat it. He began saying it to -himself, but at once felt that it was useless. A single thought now -engrossed him entirely: how to arrange a meeting with her so that the -others should not notice it. -</p> - -<p> -"If we finish this lot to-day, are we to start on a fresh stack or leave -it till to-morrow?" asked the clerk. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes," replied Eugene, involuntarily following her to the heap to -which with the other women she was raking the corn. -</p> - -<p> -"But can I really not master myself?" said he to himself. "Have I really -perished? Oh, God! But there is no God. There is only a devil. And it is -she. She has possessed me. But I won't, I won't! A devil, yes, a devil." -</p> - -<p> -Again he went up to her, drew the revolver from his pocket and shot her, -once, twice, thrice, in the back. She ran a few steps and fell on the -heap of corn. -</p> - -<p> -"Good Lord, oh dear! What is that?" cried the women. -</p> - -<p> -"No, it was not an accident. I killed her on purpose," cried Eugene. -"Send for the police-officer." -</p> - -<p> -He went home and, without speaking to his wife, went to his study and -locked himself in. -</p> - -<p> -"Do not come to me," he cried to his wife through the door. "You will -know all about it." -</p> - -<p> -An hour later he rang, and bade the man-servant who answered the bell: -"Go and find out whether Stepanida is alive." -</p> - -<p> -The servant already knew all about it, and told him she had died an hour -ago. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, all right. Now leave me alone,—when the police-officer or the -magistrate comes, let me know." -</p> - -<p> -The police-officer and magistrate arrived next morning, and Eugene, -having bidden his wife and the baby farewell, was taken to prison. -</p> - -<p> -He was tried. It was during the early days of trial by jury;<a name="FNanchor_5_1" id="FNanchor_5_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_1" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> and the -verdict was one of temporary insanity, and he was sentenced only to -perform church penance. -</p> - -<p> -He had been kept in prison for nine months and was then confined in a -monastery for one month. -</p> - -<p><br></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="nind"><a name="Footnote_5_1" id="Footnote_5_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_1"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>Trial by jury was introduced in 1864, and at first the -juries were inclined to be extremely lenient to the prisoners.</p></div> - -<p><br><br><br></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEVIL ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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