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diff --git a/7480-h/7480-h.htm b/7480-h/7480-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fc04203 --- /dev/null +++ b/7480-h/7480-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13579 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The, by Feodor Sologub + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Created Legend, by Feodor Sologub + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: The Created Legend + +Author: Feodor Sologub + +Translator: John Cournos + + +Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7480] +This file was first posted on May 8, 2003 +Last Updated: November 19, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREATED LEGEND *** + + + + +Texgt file produced by Eric Eldred, Camilla Venezuela and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE CREATED LEGEND + </h1> + <h2> + By Feodor Sologub + </h2> + <h4> + Authorized Translation from the Russian by John Cournos + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_FOOT"> FOOTNOTES: </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>“For there is nothing either good or + bad but thinking makes it so.”</i> + SHAKESPEARE + + <i>“To the impure all things are impure.”</i> + NIETZSCHE +</pre> + <p> + <i>In “The Little Demon” Sologub has shown us how the evil within us + peering out through our imagination makes all the world seem evil to us. + In “The Created Legend,” feeling perhaps the need of reacting from his + morose creation Peredonov, the author has set himself the task of showing + the reverse of the picture: how the imagination, no longer warped, but + sensitized with beauty, is capable of creating a world of its own, + legendary yet none the less real for the legend.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>The Russian title of the book is more descriptive of the author’s + intentions than an English translation will permit it to be. “Tvorimaya + Legenda” actually means “The legend in the course of creation.” The legend + that Sologub has in mind is the active, eternally changing process of + life, orderly and structural in spite of the external confusion. The + author makes an effort to bring order out of apparent chaos by stripping + life of its complex modern detail and reducing it to a few significant + symbols, as in a rather more subtle “morality play.” The modern novel is + perhaps over-psychologized; eternal truths and eternal passions are + perhaps too often lost sight of under the mass of unnecessary naturalistic + detail.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>In this novel life passes by the author as a kind of dream, a dream + within that nightmare Reality, a legend within that amorphousness called + Life. And the nightmare and the dream, like a sensitive individual’s ideas + of the world as it is and as it ought to be, alternate here like moods. + The author has expressed this changeableness of mood curiously by + alternating a crudely realistic, deliberately naïve, sometimes journalese + style with an extremely decorative, lyrical manner—this taxing the + translator to the utmost in view of the urgency to translate the mood as + well as the ideas.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>As a background we have “the abortive revolution of</i> 1905.” <i>This + novel is an emotional statement of those “nightmarish” days. Against this + rather hazy, tempestuous background we have the sharply outlined portrait + of an individual, a poet, containing a world within himself, a more + radiant and orderly world than the one which his eyes look upon outwardly. + It is this “inner vision” which permits him to see the legend in the outer + chaos, and we read in this book of his efforts to disentangle the thread + of this legend by the establishment of a kind of Hellenic Utopia.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>It is not alone the poet who is capable of creating his legend, but any + one who refuses to be subject to the whims of fate and to serve the + goddess of chance and chaos, “the prodigal scatterer of episodes” (Aisa). + The tragic thing about this philosophy, as one Russian critic points out, + is that even the definite settling of the question does not assure one + complete consolation, for, like Ivan Karamazov in Dostoyevsky’s “Brothers + Karamazov,” one may say: “I do not accept God, I do not accept the world + created by Him, God’s world; I simply return Him the ticket most + respectfully.” Still it is with some such definite decision that he enters + the kingdom of Ananke, the goddess of Necessity. Readers of “The Little + Demon” have seen a practical illustration of the two forces in Peredonov + and Liudmilla. Peredonov was petty and pitiful, “a little demon”—nevertheless + he too “strove towards the truth in common with all conscious life, and + this striving tormented him. He himself did not understand that he, like + all men, was striving towards the truth, and that was why he had that + confused unrest. He could not find his truth, and he became entangled, and + was perishing.” Liudmilla, however, had saved herself from the pettiness + and provinciality of this “unclean, impotent earth” by creating a new + world for herself. She, at any rate, had her beautiful legend, knew her + truth. </i> + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta, of “The Created Legend,” also belongs to the Kingdom of Ananke. + She finds her salvation in “the dream of liberation,” the dream dreamt by + all good Russians and made an active creative legend by the efforts to + realize it in life. Being an antithesis to the analytical novel, this + novel treats of sex, not as a psychology but as a philosophy; nuances are + avoided, the feminine figure becomes a symbol, drawn, not photographically + but broadly, in fluent, even exaggerated Botticellian outlines. I might go + even further and say that as a symbol of Russian revolution the figure of + Elisaveta is perhaps meant to stand out with the statuesque boldness of + the Victory of Samothrace. The feminine figure, nude or thinly draped, has + been used as symbol for ideas in the plastic arts ever since art was born; + our puritans have never been faced with the problem of what some of the + mythological divinities in stone would do if they should suddenly come to + life, become human. Yet it is a problem of this sort that Sologub has + attempted to solve—the problem of the gods in exile. As for + Elisaveta, Sologub goes indeed the length of describing her previous + existence in the second of the series of novels that go under the general + head of “The Created Legend”; she was then the Queen Ortruda of some + beautiful isles in the Mediterranean, and she is fated to carry her + queenliness into her later life. + </p> + <p> + <i>“The Little Demon” is Sologub’s “Inferno,” “The Created Legend” his + “Paradiso.” And just as the problem there was the abuse of bodily beauty, + so it is here the idealism of bodily beauty. It is natural that the + over-draping of our bodies, the supposed symbol of our modesty, but in + reality an evidence of our lust, should form part of his thesis. But M. + Anatole France has already pointed out brilliantly in “Penguin Island” how + immodesty originated in the invention of clothes.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>The conclusion is quite clear: it is beauty that can save the world, it + is our eyes and our imaginations behind our eyes that can remodel the + world into “a chaste dream.” Like Don Quixote, whom Sologub loves, we must + see Dulcinea in our Aldonza, and our persistent thought of her as Dulcinea + may make her Dulcinea in actuality.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Such are the thoughts behind this strange book, in which fantasy and + reality rub unfriendly shoulders. But it would be robbing the reader of + his prerogative to explain the various symbols the author employs; for + this is in the full sense a Symbolist novel, and, like a piece of music or + a picture in patterns, its charm to him who will like it will lie in + individual interpretation. I cannot, however, resist the desire to speak + of my own personal preference for Chapter XIII, in which the death of + certain musty Russian institutions is brilliantly symbolized by the author + in the passage of the risen dead on St. John’s Eve</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>In the “quiet children” the author has resurrected, as it were, the + child heroes in which his stories abound, and given them an existence on a + new plane, “beyond good and evil.” It is only children, beings chaste and + impressionable, who are capable of transformation—or shall we say + transfiguration?—and if they happen to be in this case more + paradisian than earthly it is because truth expressed in symbols must of + necessity appear fantastic and exaggerated. It is, for the same reason, + that we find the worthlessness of Matov expressed in his being turned by + Trirodov into a paper-weight. Then there is the Sun, the Flaming Dragon, + the infuriator of men’s passions, powerless, however, to affect the “quiet + children,” who, freed of all passion—“the beast in man”—may + have their white feet covered with the light dust of the earth, but never + scorched by the evil heat.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>The various references to the art and ideas of the poet Trirodov and to + the poet’s tardy recognition are certain to be recognized as + autobiographical.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>I must add that in the original this first of “Created Legend” novels + is called “Drops of Blood,” a phrase which recurs several times in the + course of the narrative in connexion with the problem of cruelty in life.</i> + </p> + <h3> + JOHN COURNOS + </h3> + <p> + <i>February</i> 1916 + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + I take a piece of life, coarse and poor, and create from it a delightful + legend—because I am a poet. Whether it linger in the darkness; + whether it be dim, commonplace, or raging with a furious fire—life + is before you; I, a poet, will erect the legend I have created about the + enchanting and the beautiful. + </p> + <p> + Chance caught in the entangling net of circumstance brings about every + beginning. Yet it is better to begin with what is splendid in earthly + experience, or at any rate with what is beautiful and pleasing. Splendid + are the body, the youth, and the gaiety in man; splendid are the water, + the light, and the summer in nature. + </p> + <p> + It was a bright, hot midday in summer, and the heavy glances of the + flaming Dragon fell on the River Skorodyen. The water, the light, and the + summer beamed and were glad; they beamed because of the sunlight that + filled the immense space, they were glad because of the wind that blew + from some far land, because of the many birds, because of the two nude + maidens. + </p> + <p> + Two sisters, Elisaveta and Elena, were bathing in the River Skorodyen. And + the sun and the water were gay, because the two maidens were beautiful and + were naked. And the two girls felt also gay and cool, and they wanted to + scamper and to laugh, to chatter and to jest. They were talking about a + man who had aroused their curiosity. + </p> + <p> + They were the daughters of a rich proprietor. The place where they bathed + adjoined the spacious old garden of their estate. Perhaps they enjoyed + their bathing because they felt themselves the mistresses of these + fast-flowing waters and of the sand-shoals under their agile feet. And + they swam about and laughed in this river with the assurance and freedom + of princesses born to rule. Few know the boundaries of their kingdom—but + fortunate are they who know what they possess and exercise their sway. + </p> + <p> + They swam up and down and across the river, and tried to outswim and + outdive one another. Their bodies, immersed in the water, would have + presented an entrancing sight to any one who might have looked down upon + them from the bench in the garden on the high bank and watched the + exquisite play of their muscles under their thin elastic skin. Pink tones + lost themselves in the skin-yellow pearl of their bodies. But pink + triumphed in their faces, and in those parts of the body most often + exposed. + </p> + <p> + The river-bank opposite rose in a slope. There were bushes here; behind + them for a great distance stretched fields of rye, while just over the + edge, where the earth and the sky met, were visible the far huts of the + suburban village. Peasant boys passed by on the bank. They did not look at + the bathing women. But a schoolboy, who had come a long way from the other + end of the town, sat on his heels behind the bushes. He called himself an + ass because he had not brought his camera. But he consoled himself with + the thought: + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow I’ll surely bring it.” + </p> + <p> + The schoolboy quickly looked at his watch in order to make a note of the + time the girls went out bathing. He knew them, and often came to their + house to see his friend, their relative. Elena, the younger, now appealed + most to him; she was plump, cheerful, white, rosy, her hands and feet were + small. He did not like the hands and feet of the elder sister, Elisaveta—they + seemed to him to be too large and too red. Her face also was red, very + sunburnt, and she was altogether quite large. + </p> + <p> + “Oh well,” he reflected, “she is certainly well formed, you can’t deny her + that.” + </p> + <p> + About a year had now passed since the retired <i>privat-docent</i> Giorgiy + Sergeyevitch Trirodov, a doctor of chemistry, had settled in the town of + Skorodozh.<a href="#linknote-1" name="linknoteref-1" id="linknoteref-1"><small>1</small></a> + From the very first he had caused much talk in the town, mostly + unsympathetic. It was quite natural that the two rose-yellow, black-haired + girls in the water should also talk of him. They splashed about gaily, and + as they raised jewel-like spray with their feet they kept up a + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “How puzzling it all is!” said Elena, the younger sister. “No one knows + where his income comes from, what he does in his house, and why he has + this colony of children. There are all sorts of strange rumours about him. + It’s certainly a mystery.” + </p> + <p> + Elena’s words reminded Elisaveta of an article she had read lately in a + philosophic periodical published at Moscow. Elisaveta had a good memory. + She recalled a phrase: + </p> + <p> + “In our world reason will never dominate, and the mysterious will always + maintain its place.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to recall more, but suddenly realizing that it would not + interest Elena, she gave a sigh and grew silent. Elena gave her a tender, + appealing look and said: + </p> + <p> + “When it is so bright you want everything to be as clear as it is around + us now.” + </p> + <p> + “Is everything really clear now?” exclaimed Elisaveta. “The sun blinds + your eyes, the water flashes and dazzles, and in this ragingly bright + world we do not even know whether there isn’t some one a couple of paces + away peeping at us.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the sisters were standing breast-high in the water, near + the overgrown bank. The schoolboy who sat on his heels behind the bush + heard Elisaveta’s words. He grew cold in his confusion, and began to crawl + on all-fours between the bushes, away from the river. He got in among the + rye, then perched himself on the rail-fence and pretended to rest, as + though he were not even aware of the closeness of the river. But no one + had noticed him, as if he were non-existent. + </p> + <p> + The schoolboy sat there a little while, then went home with a vague + feeling of disenchantment, injury, and irritation. There was something + especially humiliating to him in the thought that to the two girl bathers + he was merely a possibility speculated upon but actually non-existent. + </p> + <p> + Everything in this world has an end. There was an end also to the sisters’ + bathing. They made their way silently together out of the pleasant, cool, + deep water towards the dry ground, heaven’s terrestrial footstool, and out + into the air, where they met the hot kisses of the slowly, cumbrously + rising Dragon. They stood a while on the bank, yielding themselves to the + Dragon’s kisses, then entered the protected bath-house where they had left + their clothes. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta’s clothes were very simple. They consisted of a greenish yellow, + not over-long tunic-dress without sleeves, and a plain straw hat. + Elisaveta nearly always wore yellow dresses. She loved yellow, she loved + buttercups and gold, and though she sometimes said that she wore yellow in + order to soften her ruddy complexion, she really loved it simply, + sincerely, and for its own sake. Yellow delighted Elisaveta. There was + something remote and unpremeditated in this, as if it were a thing + remembered from another, previous life. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta’s heavy black braid of hair was coiled tightly and attractively + around her head, and as it was lifted quite high at the back, her neck + showed—sunburnt and gracefully erect. Elisaveta’s face had a keen, + almost exaggerated, expression of the mastery of will and intellect over + the emotions. The long and peculiarly straight parting of her lips was + very exquisite. Her blue eyes were cheerful—even when her lips did + not smile. Their glance was thoughtful and gentle. The bright ruddiness + and strong tan of the face seemed strangely alien to it. + </p> + <p> + While waiting for Elena to finish dressing Elisaveta walked slowly on the + sandy bank and looked into the monotonous distances. The fine warm grains + of sand gently warmed her bare feet, which had grown cold in the water. + </p> + <p> + Elena dressed slowly. She enjoyed dressing; everything that she put on + seemed an adornment to her. She delighted in the rosy reflections of her + skin, in her pretty light dress of a pinkish white material, in her broad + sash of pink silk fastened behind with a buckle of mother-of-pearl, in her + straw hat trimmed with bright pink ribbons on top and yellow-pink velvet + on its underbrim. + </p> + <p> + At last Elena was dressed. The sisters climbed the sloping bank and went + where their curiosity drew them. They loved to take long walks. They had + already passed several times the house and grounds of Giorgiy Trirodov, + whom they had not yet seen once. To-day they wished to go that way again + and to try and see what was to be seen. + </p> + <p> + The sisters walked two versts through the wood. They spoke quietly of + various things, and felt a little agitated. Curiosity often agitates + people. + </p> + <p> + The sinuous road with two wagon-ruts revealed picturesque views at every + turn. The path finally chosen by the sisters led to a hollow. Its sides, + overgrown with bushes and weeds, looked wildly beautiful. From its depth + came the sweet, warm odour of clover, and down below its white bosom grass + was visible. A small narrow bridge, propped up from below with thin + slender stakes, hung over the hollow. On the other side of the bridge a + low hedge stretched right and left, and in this hedge, quite facing the + bridge, a small gate was visible. + </p> + <p> + The sisters crossed the bridge, holding on to its slender hand-rail of + birch. They tried the gate—it was closed. They looked at one + another. Elisaveta, growing red with vexation, said: + </p> + <p> + “We’ll have to go back again.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one says that you can’t get into the place,” said Elena, “that + you’ve got to get over the hedge, and that even that is impossible for + some reason or other. It’s very strange. I wonder what they can be up to?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a slight rustle in the bushes by the hedge. The + branches parted. A pale boy ran up to them. He looked quickly at the + sisters with his clear, intensely calm, almost dead eyes. There was + something strange in the shape of his pale lips, thought Elisaveta. A + motionless, sorrowful expression lurked in the corners of his mouth. He + opened the gate; he seemed to say something, but so quietly that the + sisters could not catch his words. Or was it the sound of the light breeze + in the wavering foliage? + </p> + <p> + The boy hid himself behind the bushes so quickly that it was hard to + believe that he had been there at all; the sisters had no time to be + astonished or to thank him. It was as if the gate had opened by itself, or + had been pushed open by one of the sisters by chance. + </p> + <p> + They stood there undecided. An incomprehensible unrest took possession of + them for an instant and as quickly went from them. Curiosity again + dominated them. The sisters entered. + </p> + <p> + “How did he open it?” asked Elena. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta, without a word, went quickly forward. She was so elated at + getting in that she had almost forgotten the pale boy. Only somewhere, + within the domain of vague consciousness, there gleamed dimly a strange + white face. + </p> + <p> + The wood was quite like the one by which they had come to the gate, quite + as pensive and as tall and as isolated from the sky, and as absorbed in + its own mysteries. But here it seemed to have been conquered by human + activity. Not far away voices, cries, laughter resounded. Here and there + were evidences of left-off games. The narrow footpaths often led to wider + paths of sand. The sisters quickly followed the winding path in the + direction from which the children’s voices sounded loudest. Afterwards all + this jumble of sound seemed to collapse, and it renewed itself in loud, + sweet singing. + </p> + <p> + At last there appeared before them a small glade—oval in shape. Tall + firs edged this open space as evenly as graceful columns in a magnificent + <i>salle</i>. The blue of the sky above it seemed especially bright, pure + and dominant. The glade was full of children of various ages. They were + sitting and reclining all around in ones, twos, and threes. In the middle + some thirty boys and girls were singing and dancing; their dance followed + strictly the rhythm of the tune and interpreted the words of the song with + beautiful fidelity. They were directed by a tall, graceful girl who had a + strong, sonorous voice, braids of magnificent golden hair, and grey, + cheerful eyes. + </p> + <p> + All of them, the children as well as their instructresses—of whom + three or four were to be seen—were dressed quite simply and alike. + Their simple, light attire seemed beautiful. It was pleasant to look at + them, perhaps because their dress revealed the active parts of their body, + the arms and the legs. Dress here was made to protect, and not to conceal; + to clothe, and not to muffle. + </p> + <p> + The blue and red of the hats and of the dresses gave emphasis to the vivid + tones of the faces and of the arms and legs. There was a spirit of gaiety + here, a sense of holiday splendour in these naturally adorned bodies, + boldly revealed under clear azure skies. + </p> + <p> + Some of the children from among those who did not sing approached the + sisters and looked at them in a friendly manner, smiling trustfully. + </p> + <p> + “You may sit down if you like,” said a boy with very blue eyes; “here is a + bench.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my dear,” said Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + The sisters sat down. The children wished to talk to them. One little girl + said: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve just seen a little squirrel. It was sitting on a pine. Then I gave a + shout—you should have seen it run!” + </p> + <p> + The others also began to talk and to ask questions. The singers ended + their song and scattered in all directions to play. The golden-haired + instructress went up to the sisters and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Have you come from town? Are you pleased with what you have seen here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s splendid here,” said Elisaveta. “Our place adjoins this. We are + the Rameyevs. I am Elisaveta. And this is my sister Elena.” + </p> + <p> + The golden-haired girl suddenly blushed as if she felt ashamed that the + wealthy young women were looking at her naked shoulders and at her legs + naked to the knee. But seeing that they too were barefoot and wore short + skirts, she quickly recovered and smiled at them. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Nadezhda Vestchezerova,” she said. + </p> + <p> + She looked attentively at the sisters. Elisaveta thought that she had + heard the name somewhere in town—perhaps a tale in connexion with + it, she could not remember exactly what. For some reason she did not + mention this to Nadezhda. Perhaps it was a tragic history. + </p> + <p> + This fear of talking about the past occasionally came upon Elisaveta. Who + knows what sorrow is hid behind a bright smile, and from what darkness has + sprung the blossoming which gives sudden joy to a glance, elusively + beautiful and born of unhappy worldly experience? + </p> + <p> + “Did you find your way in easily?” asked the golden-haired Nadezhda with a + friendly but subtle smile. “It’s usually not a simple matter,” she + explained. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta replied: + </p> + <p> + “A white boy opened the gate for us. He ran off so quickly that we had not + even the time to thank him.” + </p> + <p> + Nadezhda suddenly ceased smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes—he isn’t one of us,” she said falteringly. “They live over + there with Trirodov. There are several of them. Wouldn’t you like to have + lunch with us?” she asked, cutting short her previous remarks. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta suspected that Nadezhda wanted to change the subject. + </p> + <p> + “We live here all day long, we eat here, we learn here, and we play here—do + everything here,” said Nadezhda. “People have built cities to escape the + wild beast, but they themselves have become like wild beasts, like + savages.” + </p> + <p> + A bitter note crept into her voice—was it the echo of her past life + or was it a thing foreign to her and grafted upon her sensitive nature? + She continued: + </p> + <p> + “We have come from the town into the woods. From the wild beast, from the + savages of the town. The beast must be killed. The wolf and the fox and + the hawk—all those who prey upon others—they must be killed.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta asked: + </p> + <p> + “How is one to kill a beast who has grown iron and steel nails, and who + has built his lair in the town? It is he who does the killing, and there’s + no end in sight to his ferocity.” + </p> + <p> + Nadezhda knitted her eyebrows, pressed her hands, and stubbornly repeated: + </p> + <p> + “We shall kill him, we shall kill him.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The sisters stayed to lunch. + </p> + <p> + They remained over an hour chattering cheerfully with the children and + their instructresses. The children were sweet and confiding. The + instructresses, no less simple and charming, seemed cheerful, care-free, + and restful. Yet they were always busy, and nothing escaped them. Besides + many of the children did certain things without being urged, this being + evidently a part of a system, of which the sisters had as yet barely an + inkling. + </p> + <p> + Instruction was mixed up with play. One of the instructresses invited the + sisters to listen to what she called her lesson. The sisters listened with + enjoyment to an interesting discourse concerning the objects the children + had observed that day in the wood. There were other instructresses who had + just returned from the depths of the wood—some children were going + into the wood, others were coming out, quite different ones. + </p> + <p> + The instructress to whom the sisters were listening ended her discourse + and suddenly scampered off somewhere. Through the dark foliage of the + trees could be seen the glimmer of red caps and of sunburnt arms and legs. + The sisters were again left alone. No one paid especial attention to them + any longer; evidently there was no one they either embarrassed or + hindered. + </p> + <p> + “It’s time to go,” said Elena. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta made a move. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, let’s go,” she agreed. “It’s very interesting and delightful here, + but we can’t stay for ever.” + </p> + <p> + The departure of the sisters had been noticed. A few of the children ran + up to them. The children cried gaily: + </p> + <p> + “We will show you the way, or you’ll get lost.” + </p> + <p> + When the sisters paused at the gate, Elisaveta thought that some one was + looking at her, out of a hiding-place, with a gaze of astonishment. In + perplexity, strange and distressing, she looked around her. Behind the + hedge in the bushes a small boy and a small girl were hiding. They were + like the others she had seen here, except that they were very white, as + though the kisses of the stern Dragon floating in the hot sky had left no + traces upon their tender skin. Both the little boy and the little girl + were staring with a motionless but attentive gaze. Their chaste look + seemed to penetrate into the very depth of one’s soul; this rather + disconcerted Elisaveta. She whispered to Elena: + </p> + <p> + “Look, what strange beings!” + </p> + <p> + Elena looked in the direction of Elisaveta’s glance and said + indifferently: + </p> + <p> + “Monsters!” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta was astonished at her sister’s observation—the faces of + these hiding children seemed to her like the faces of praying angels. + </p> + <p> + By this time the children who had escorted the sisters ran back, jostling + each other and laughing. Only one boy remained with them. He opened the + gate and waited for the sisters to go out so that he could shut it again. + Elisaveta quietly asked him: + </p> + <p> + “Who are these?” + </p> + <p> + With a light movement of her head she indicated the bushes, where the boy + and the girl were hiding. The cheerful urchin looked in the direction of + her glance, then at her, and said: + </p> + <p> + “There’s no one there.” + </p> + <p> + And actually no one was now visible in the bushes. Elisaveta persisted: + </p> + <p> + “But I did see a boy and a girl there. Both were quite white, not at all + brown like the rest of you. They stood ever so quietly and looked.” + </p> + <p> + The cheery, dark-eyed lad looked attentively at Elisaveta, frowned + slightly, lowered his eyes, reflected, then again eyed the sisters + attentively and sadly, and said: + </p> + <p> + “In the main building, where Giorgiy Sergeyevitch lives, there are more of + these quiet children. They are never with us. They are quiet ones. They do + not play. They have been ill. It’s likely they haven’t improved yet. I + don’t know. They are kept separately.” + </p> + <p> + The boy said this slowly and thoughtfully, as if he were astonished + because there, in the house of the master, were other children, quiet + ones, who did not join in their play. Suddenly he shook his head lustily, + banishing, as it were, unaccustomed thoughts, then took off his cap and + exclaimed cheerily and with some tenderness: + </p> + <p> + “A happy journey, darlings! Follow this footpath.” + </p> + <p> + He made an obeisance and ran off. The sisters were quite alone now. They + went on in the direction given them by the boy. A quiet vale opened up + before them, and in the distance a white wall was visible, which concealed + Trirodov’s house. They continued their way towards the house. In front of + them, keeping close to the bushes, walked a boy in a white dress; he + appeared to be showing them the way. + </p> + <p> + It was very quiet. High above them, protecting himself from the human eye + by dark purple shields, the flaming Dragon rested. His look from behind + the deceptive, vacillant shields was hot and evil; he poured out his + dazzling light, tormented men with it, yet wished them to rejoice in his + presence and to compose hymns to him. He wished to rule, and it seemed as + though he were motionless, as though he would never decide to retire. But + his livid weariness already began to incline him westwards. Still his + passion grew, and his kisses were scorching, and his infuriated gaze with + its livid purple dimmed the glances of the two girls. + </p> + <p> + The girls’ glances were seeking—seeking Trirodov’s house. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov’s house stood about a verst and a half from the edge of the town, + not at the end where the dirty and smoky factory buildings squatted, but + quite at the other end, along the River Skorodyen, above the town of + Skorodozh. This house and the estate attached to it occupied a + considerable space, surrounded by a stone wall. One side of the place + faced the river, the other the town, the rest adjoined the fields and + woods. The house stood in the middle of an old garden. From behind the + tall white stone wall the tops of the trees were to be seen, while between + them, quite high, two turrets of the house, one somewhat higher than the + other, were visible. The sisters felt as if some one in the high turret + were looking down upon them. + </p> + <p> + There were ominous rumours concerning the house even in the days when it + belonged to the previous tenant Matov, a kinsman of the Rameyev sisters. + It was said that the house was inhabited by ghosts, and by phantoms who + had left their graves. There was a footpath close to the house which led + across the northern part of the estate, through a wood, to the Krutitsk + cemetery. In the town they called this the footpath of Navii,<a + href="#linknote-2" name="linknoteref-2" id="linknoteref-2"><small>2</small></a> + and they were afraid to walk upon it even by day. Many legends grew up + around it. The local <i>intelligentsia</i> tried vainly to disprove them. + The whole property was sometimes called Navii’s playground. There were + some who said that they had seen with their own eyes this enigmatic + inscription on the gates: “Three went in, two came out.” This inscription + was, of course, no longer there. Now only lightly cut-out figures were to + be seen, one under the other: ‘3’ on top, ‘2’ lower, and ‘1’ at the + bottom. + </p> + <p> + All the evil rumours and warnings did not prevent Giorgiy Sergeyevitch + Trirodov from buying the house. He made changes in it, and then settled + here after his comparatively brief educational career had been rudely cut + short. + </p> + <p> + It took a long time to rebuild and transform the house. The high walls + prevented any one from seeing what was being done there. This aroused the + curiosity of the townsfolk and caused all sorts of malicious gossip. The + working men did not belong to the place, but were brought from a distance. + Dark and short and rather gruff-looking, they did not understand the local + speech, and seldom showed themselves in the streets. + </p> + <p> + “They are wicked and dark” was said about them in the town. “They carry + knives about with them, and dig underground passages in Navii’s + playground. He himself is clean-shaven like a German, and he’s imported + these foreign earth-diggers.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + “I like that red-haired instructress, Nadezhda Vestchezerova,” said Elena. + </p> + <p> + She looked searchingly at her sister. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she’s very sincere,” answered Elisaveta. ‘“A fine girl.” + </p> + <p> + “They are all charming,” said Elena with greater assurance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” observed Elisaveta, with indecision in her voice. “But there is + that other—the one that ran away from us—there’s something I + don’t like about her. Perhaps it’s a slight veneer of hypocrisy.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say so?” asked Elena. + </p> + <p> + “I simply feel it. She smiles too pleasantly, too lovingly. She seems in + every way phlegmatic, yet she tries to appear animated. Her words come + rather easily sometimes, and she exaggerates.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It was quiet in the garden behind the stone wall. This was Kirsha’s free + hour. But he could not play, though he tried to. + </p> + <p> + Little Kirsha, Trirodov’s son, whose mother had died not long before, was + dark and thin. He had a very mobile face and restless dark eyes. He was + dressed like the boys in the wood. He was quite restless to-day. He felt + sad without knowing why. He felt as if some invisible being were drawing + him on, calling to him in an inaudible whisper, demanding something—what? + And who was it approaching their house? Why? Friend or foe? It was a + stranger—yet curiously intimate. + </p> + <p> + At that moment, when the sisters were taking leave of the children in the + wood, Kirsha felt especially perturbed. In the far corner of the garden he + saw a boy in white dress; he ran up to him. They spoke long and quietly. + Then Kirsha ran to his father. + </p> + <p> + Giorgiy Sergeyevitch Trirodov was all alone at home. He was lying on the + sofa, reading a book by Wilde. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov was forty years old. He was slender and erect. His short-trimmed + hair and clean-shaven face made him look very young. Only on closer + scrutiny it was possible to detect the many grey hairs, the wrinkles on + the forehead around the eyes. His face was pale. His broad forehead seemed + very large—it was partly due to a narrow chin, lean cheeks, and + baldness. + </p> + <p> + The room where Trirodov was reading—his study—was large, + bright, and simple, with a white, unpainted floor as smooth as a mirror. + The walls were lined with open bookcases. In the wall opposite the + windows, between the bookcases, a narrow space was left, large enough for + a man to stand in. It gave the impression of a door being there, hidden by + hangings. In the middle of the room stood a very large table, upon which + lay books, papers, and several strange objects—hexahedral prisms of + an unfamiliar substance, heavy and solid in appearance, dark red in + colour, with purple, blue, grey, and black spots, and with veins running + across it. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha knocked on the door and entered—quiet, small, troubled. + Trirodov looked at him anxiously. Kirsha said: + </p> + <p> + “There are two young women in the wood. Such an inquisitive pair. They + have been looking over our colony. Now they’d like to come here to take a + look round.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov let the pale green ribbon with a lightly stamped pattern fall + upon the page he was reading and laid the book on the small table at his + side. He then took Kirsha by the hand, drew him close, and looked + attentively at him, with a slight stir in his eyes; then said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been asking questions of those quiet boys again.” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha grew red, but stood erect and calm, Trirodov continued to reproach + him: + </p> + <p> + “How often have I told you that this is wicked. It is bad for you and for + them.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all the same to them,” said Kirsha quietly. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha shrugged his shoulders and said obstinately: + </p> + <p> + “Why are they here? What are they to us?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov turned away, then rose abruptly, went to the window, and looked + gloomily into the garden. Clearly something was agitating his + consciousness, something that needed deciding. Kirsha quietly walked up to + him, stepping softly upon the white, warm floor with his sunburnt graceful + feet, high in instep, and with long, beautiful, well-formed toes. He + touched his father on the shoulder, quietly rested his sunburnt hand + there, and said: + </p> + <p> + “You know, daddy, that I seldom do this, only when I must. I felt very + much troubled to-day. I knew that something would happen.” + </p> + <p> + “What will happen?” asked his father. + </p> + <p> + “I have a feeling,” said Kirsha with a pleading voice, “that you must let + them in to us—these inquisitive girls.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov looked very attentively at his son and smiled. Kirsha said + gravely: + </p> + <p> + “The elder one is very charming. In some way she is like mother. But the + other is also nice.” + </p> + <p> + “What brings them here?” again asked Trirodov. “They might have waited + until their elders brought them here.” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha smiled, sighed lightly, and said thoughtfully, shrugging his small + shoulders: + </p> + <p> + “All women are curious. What’s to be done with them?” + </p> + <p> + Smiling now joyously, now gravely, Trirodov asked: + </p> + <p> + “And will mother not come to us?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if she only came, if only for one little minute!” exclaimed Kirsha. + </p> + <p> + “What are we to do with these girls?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Invite them in, show them the house,” replied Kirsha. + </p> + <p> + “And the quiet children?” quietly asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “The quiet children also like the elder one,” answered Kirsha. + </p> + <p> + “And who are they, these girls?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “They are our neighbours, the Rameyevs,” said Kirsha. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov smiled again and said: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, one can understand why they are so curious.” + </p> + <p> + He frowned, went to the table, put his hand on one of the dark, heavy + prisms and picked it up cautiously, and again carefully put it back in its + place, saying at the same time to Kirsha: + </p> + <p> + “Go, then, and meet them and bring them here.” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha, growing animated, asked: + </p> + <p> + “By the door or through the grotto?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, bring them through the dark passage, underground.” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha went out. Trirodov was left alone. He opened the drawer of his + writing-table, took out a strangely shaped flagon of green glass filled + with a dark fluid, and looked in the direction of the secret door. At that + instant it opened quietly and easily. A pale, quiet boy entered and looked + at Trirodov with his dispassionate and innocent, but understanding eyes. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov went up to him. A reproach was ripe on his tongue but he could + not say it. Pity and tenderness clung to his lips. Silently he gave the + strange-shaped flagon to the boy. The boy went out quietly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + The sisters entered a thicket. The path’s many turnings made them giddy. + Suddenly the turrets of the old house vanished from sight. Everything + around them assumed an unfamiliar look. + </p> + <p> + “We seem to have lost our way,” said Elena cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Never fear, we’ll find our way out,” replied Elisaveta. “We are bound to + get somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + At that instant there came towards them from among the bushes the small, + sunburnt, handsome Kirsha. His dark, closely grown eyebrows and black wavy + hair, unspoiled by headgear, gave him the wild look of a wood-sprite. + </p> + <p> + “Dear boy, where do you come from?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha eyed the sisters with an attentive, direct, and innocent gaze. He + said: + </p> + <p> + “I am Kirsha Trirodov. Follow this path, and you’ll find yourselves where + you want to go. I’ll go ahead of you.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and walked on. The sisters followed him upon the narrow path + between the tall trees. Here and there flowers were visible—small, + white, odorous flowers. They emitted a strange, pungent smell. It made the + sisters feel both gay and languid. Kirsha walked silently before them. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the road loomed a mound, overgrown by tangled, ugly grass. + At the foot of the mound was a rusty door which looked as if it were meant + to hide some treasure. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha felt in his pocket, took out a key, and opened the door. It creaked + unpleasantly and breathed out cold, dampness, and fear. A long dark + passage became discernible. Kirsha pressed a spot near the door. The dark + passage became lit up as though by electric light, but the lights + themselves were not visible. + </p> + <p> + The sisters entered the grotto. The light poured from everywhere. But the + sources of light remained a mystery. The walls themselves seemed to + radiate. The light fell evenly, and neither bright reflections nor shadowy + places were to be seen. + </p> + <p> + The sisters went on. Now they were alone. The door closed behind them with + a grating sound. Kirsha ran on ahead. The sisters no longer saw him. The + corridor was sinuous. It was difficult to walk fast for some unknown + reason. A kind of weight seemed to fetter their limbs. The passage + inclined slightly downwards. They walked on like this a long time. It grew + hotter and damper the farther they advanced. There was an aroma—strange, + sad, and exotic. The fragrance increased, became more and more languorous. + It made the head dizzy and the heart ready to faint with a sweetness not + free from pain. + </p> + <p> + It seemed an incredibly long way. Their legs now moved more slowly. The + stone floor was cruelly hard. + </p> + <p> + “It’s almost impossible to walk,” whispered Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + Those few moments seemed like ages in that dank, sultry underground. There + seemed to be no end to the narrow winding passage; the two sisters felt as + though they were doomed to walk on and on, for ever and ever, without + reaching any place. + </p> + <p> + The light gradually grew dimmer, a thin mist rose before their eyes. Still + they walked on along the cruel, endless way. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly their journey was done. Before them was an open door, a shaft of + white, exultant light came pouring in—freedom’s own ecstasy. + </p> + <p> + The door opened into an immense greenhouse. Strange, muscular, monstrously + green plants grew here. The air was very humid, very oppressive. The glass + walls intersected by iron bars let through much light. The light was + painfully, pitilessly dazzling, so that everything appeared in a whirl + before their eyes. + </p> + <p> + Elena glanced at her dress. It struck her as being grey, worn out. But the + bright light diverted her glances elsewhere and made her forget herself. + The blue-green glass sky of the greenhouse flung down sparks and heat. The + cruel Dragon rejoiced at the earthly respirations confined in this prison + of glass. He furiously kissed his beloved poisonous grasses. + </p> + <p> + “It is even more terrible here than in the passage,” said Elisaveta. + “Let’s leave this place quickly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is pleasant here,” said Elena with a happy smile. She was enjoying + the pink and purple flowers which bloomed in a round basin. + </p> + <p> + But Elisaveta walked rapidly towards the door leading to the garden. Elena + overtook her, and grumbled: + </p> + <p> + “Why are you running? Here is a bench; let’s rest here.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov met them in the garden just outside the greenhouse. His manner of + addressing them was simple and direct. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” he began, “that you are interested in this house and its + owner. Well, if you like I’ll show you a part of my kingdom.” + </p> + <p> + Elena blushed. Elisaveta calmly bowed and said: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we are an inquisitive pair. This house once belonged to a relative, + but it was left abandoned. It is said that many changes have been made.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, many changes have been made,” said Trirodov quietly, “but the + greater part remains as it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one was astonished,” continued Elisaveta, “when you decided to + settle here. The reputation of the house did not hinder you.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov led the sisters through the house and the garden. The + conversation ran on smoothly. The sisters’ embarrassment was soon gone. + They felt quite natural with Trirodov. His calm, friendly voice put them + wholly at ease. They continued to walk and to observe. But they felt + conscious that another life, intimate yet remote, hovered round them all + the while. Sounds of music came to them at intervals; sometimes it was the + doleful tones of a violin, sometimes the quiet plaint of a flute; again it + was the reed-like voice of some unseen singer which sang a tender and + restful song. + </p> + <p> + Upon one small lawn, in the shade of old trees, whose foliage protected + them from the hot glare of the Dragon, making it pleasantly cool and + pleasantly dark there, a number of small boys and girls, dressed in white, + had formed a ring and were dancing. As the sisters approached them the + children dispersed. They scampered off so quietly that they barely made a + sound even when they brushed against the twigs; they vanished as though + they had not been there. + </p> + <p> + The sisters listened to Trirodov as they walked, pausing often to admire + the beauties of the garden—its trees, lawns, ponds, islands, its + quietly murmuring fountains, its picturesque arbours, its profusely gay + flower-beds. They felt a keen elation at having penetrated this mysterious + house—they were as happy as schoolgirls at the thought of having + infringed the commonly accepted rules of good society in coming here. + </p> + <p> + As they entered one room of the house Elena exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “What a strange room!” + </p> + <p> + “A magic room,” said Trirodov with a smile. + </p> + <p> + It was indeed a strange room—everything in it had an odd shape: the + ceiling sloped, the floor was concave, the corners were round, upon the + walls were incomprehensible pictures and unfamiliar hieroglyphics. In one + corner was a dark, flat object in a carved frame of black wood. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a mirror in which it is interesting to take a look at oneself,” said + Trirodov. “Only you have to stand in that triangle close to the wall, near + the corner.” + </p> + <p> + The sisters went there and glanced in the mirror: two old wrinkled faces + were reflected in it. Elena cried out in fright. Elisaveta, growing pale, + turned towards her sister and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be afraid,” she said, “it’s a trick of some sort.” + </p> + <p> + Elena looked at her and cried out in horror: + </p> + <p> + “You have become quite old—grey-haired! How awful!” + </p> + <p> + She ran from the mirror, crying out in her fright: + </p> + <p> + “What is it? What is it?” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta followed her. She did not understand what had happened; she was + agitated, and tried to hide her confusion. Trirodov looked at them in a + self-possessed manner. He opened a cupboard, inset in the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Be calm,” he said to Elena. “I’ll give you some water in a moment.” + </p> + <p> + He gave her a glass containing a fluid as colourless as water. Elena + quickly drank the sour-sweet water, and suddenly felt cheerful. Elisaveta + also drank it. Elena threw herself towards the mirror. + </p> + <p> + “I’m young again,” she exclaimed in a high voice. + </p> + <p> + Then she ran forward, embraced Elisaveta, and said cheerfully: + </p> + <p> + “And you too, Elisaveta, have grown young.” + </p> + <p> + An impetuous joy seized both sisters. They caught each other by the hands + and began to dance and to twirl round the room. Then they suddenly felt + ashamed. They stopped, and did not know which way to look; they laughed in + their confusion. Elisaveta said: + </p> + <p> + “What a stupid pair we are! You think us ridiculous, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov smiled in a friendly fashion: + </p> + <p> + “That is the nature of this place,” he observed. “Terror and joy live here + together.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The sisters were shown many interesting things in the house—objects + of art and of worship; things which told of distant lands and of hoary + antiquity; engravings of a strange and disturbing character; variegated + stones, turquoise, pearls; ugly, amorphous, and grotesque idols; + representations of the god-child—there were many of these, but only + one face profoundly stirred Elisaveta.... + </p> + <p> + Elena enjoyed the objects that resembled toys. There were many things + there that one could play with, and thus indulge in a jumble of magic + reflections of time and space. + </p> + <p> + The sisters had seen so much that it seemed as if an age had passed, but + actually they had spent only two hours here. It is impossible to measure + time. One hour is an age, another is an instant; but humanity makes no + distinction, levels the hours down to an average. + </p> + <p> + “What, only two hours!” exclaimed Elena. “How long we’ve spent here. It’s + time to go home for dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind being a little late?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “How can we?” said Elena. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta explained: + </p> + <p> + “The hour of dinner is strictly kept in our house.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have a cart ready for you.” + </p> + <p> + The sisters thanked him. But they must start at once. They both suddenly + felt sad and tired. They bade their host good-bye and left him. The boy in + white went before them in the garden and showed them the way. + </p> + <p> + No sooner had they again entered the underground passage than they saw a + soft couch, and a fatigue so poignant suddenly overcame them that they + could not advance another step. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s sit down,” said Elena. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Elisaveta, “I too am tired. How strange! What a weariness!” + </p> + <p> + The sisters sat down. Elisaveta said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “The light that falls upon us here from an unknown source is not a living + light, and it is terrifying—but the stern face of the monster, + burning yet not consuming itself, is even more terrifying.” + </p> + <p> + “The lovely sun,” said Elena. + </p> + <p> + “It will become extinguished,” said Elisaveta, “extinguished—this + unrighteous luminary, and in the depth of subterranean passages, freed + from the scorching Dragon and from cold that kills, men will erect a new + life full of wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + Elena whispered: + </p> + <p> + “When the earth grows cold, men will die.” + </p> + <p> + “The earth will not die,” answered Elisaveta no less quietly. + </p> + <p> + The sisters fell into a sleep. They did not sleep long, and when both + awakened quite suddenly, everything that had just happened seemed like a + dream. They made haste. + </p> + <p> + “We must hurry home,” said Elena in an anxious voice. + </p> + <p> + They ran quickly. The door of the underground passage was open. Just + outside the door, in the road, stood a cart. Kirsha sat in it and held the + reins. The sisters seated themselves. Elisaveta took the reins. Kirsha + spoke a word now and then. They said little on the way, in odd, disjointed + words. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at their destination, they got out of the cart. They were in a + half-somnolent state. Kirsha was off before they realized that they had + not thanked him. When they looked for him they could only see a cloud of + dust and hear the clatter of hoofs and the rattle of wheels on the + cobblestones. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + The sisters had barely time to change for dinner. They entered the + dining-room somewhat weary and distraught. They were awaited there by + their father Rameyev, the two Matovs—the student Piotr Dmitrievitch + and the schoolboy Misha, sons of Rameyev’s lately deceased cousin to whom + Trirodov’s estate had previously belonged. + </p> + <p> + The sisters spoke little at the table, and they said nothing of their + day’s adventure. Yet before this they used to be frank and loved to chat, + to tell the things that had happened to them. + </p> + <p> + Piotr Matov, a tall, spare, pale youth with sparkling eyes, who looked + like a man about to enter a prophetic school, seemed worried and + irritated. His nervousness reflected itself, in embarrassed smiles and + awkward movements, in Misha. The latter was a well-nourished, rosy-cheeked + lad, with a quick, merry eye, but betraying his intense + impressionableness. His smiling mouth trembled slightly around the + corners, apparently without cause. + </p> + <p> + The old Rameyev, who was more robust than tall, and had the tranquil + manners of a well-trained, well-balanced individual, did not betray his + impatience at his daughters’ tardy appearance, but took his place at the + partially extended table, which seemed small in the middle of the immense + dining-room of dark, embellished oak. Miss Harrison, unembarrassed, began + to ladle out the soup; she was a plump, calm, slightly grey-haired woman, + the personification of a successful household. + </p> + <p> + Rameyev noticed that his daughters were tired. A vague alarm stirred + within him. But he quickly extinguished this tiny spark of displeasure, + smiled tenderly at his daughters, and said very quietly, as if cautiously + hinting at something: + </p> + <p> + “You have walked a little too far, my dears.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short but awkward silence; then, in order to soften the hidden + significance of his words and to ease his daughters’ embarrassment, he + added: + </p> + <p> + “I see you don’t ride horseback as much as you used to.” + </p> + <p> + After this he turned to the eldest of the brothers: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Petya, have you brought any news from town?” + </p> + <p> + The sisters felt uneasy. They tried to take part in the conversation. + </p> + <p> + This was in those days when the red demon of murder was prowling in our + native land, and his terrible deeds brought discord and hate into the + bosom of peaceful families. The young people in this house, as elsewhere, + often talked and wrangled about what had happened and what was yet to be. + For all their wrangling, they could not reach any agreement. Friendship + from childhood and good breeding mitigated to some extent this antagonism + of ideas. But more than once their discussions ended in bitter words. + </p> + <p> + Piotr, in reply to Rameyev, began to tell about working-men’s disturbances + and projected strikes. Irritation was evident in his voice. He was one of + those who was intensely troubled by problems of a religious-philosophical + character. He thought that the mystical existence of human unities might + be achieved only under the brilliant and alluring sway of Caesars and + Popes. He imagined that he loved freedom—Christian freedom—yet + all the turbulent movements of newly awakened life aroused only hate in + his heart. + </p> + <p> + “There’s terrible news,” said Piotr; “a general strike is talked of. It is + reported that all the factories will shut down to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Misha burst into an unexpected laugh; it was loud, merry, and childlike; + and there was almost rapture in his remark: + </p> + <p> + “But you ought to see the sort of face the Headmaster makes on all such + occasions.” + </p> + <p> + His voice was tender and sonorous, and it rang so softly and sweetly that + he might have been telling about the blessed and the innocent, about the + chaste play on the threshold of paradisian abodes. The words “strike” and + “obstruction” came from his lips like the names of rare, sweet morsels. He + grew cheerful and had a sudden desire to make things lively in schoolboy + fashion. He began to sing loudly: + </p> + <p> + “Awake, rise up....” + </p> + <p> + But he became confused, stopped sadly, grew quiet, and blushed. The + sisters laughed. Piotr had a surly look. Rameyev smiled benignly. Miss + Harrison, pretending not to have noticed the discordant incident, calmly + pressed the button of the electric bell attached on a cord to the hanging + light to bring on the next course. + </p> + <p> + The dinner proceeded slowly in the usual order. The discussion grew + hotter, and went helter-skelter from subject to subject. Such is said to + be the Russian manner in argument. Perhaps it is the universal manner of + people when discussing something that touches them deeply. + </p> + <p> + Piotr exclaimed hotly: + </p> + <p> + “Why is the autocracy of the proletariat better than the one already in + force? And what wild, barbarous watchwords they have! ‘Who is not with us, + he is against us!’ ‘Who is master, let him get down from his place; it’s + our banquet.’” + </p> + <p> + “It’s yet too early to speak of our banquet,” said Elena in a restrained + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where we are drifting?” continued Piotr. “There will be a + reign of terror, and a shaking up such as Russia has not yet experienced. + The point at issue is not that there is talking or doing here or there by + certain gentry who imagine that they are making history. The real issue is + in the clash of two classes, two interests, two cultures, two conceptions + of the world, two moral systems. Who is it that wishes to seize the crown + of lordship? It is the <i>Kham</i>,<a href="#linknote-3" + name="linknoteref-3" id="linknoteref-3"><small>3</small></a> it is he who + threatens to devour our culture.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta said reproachfully: + </p> + <p> + “What a word—<i>Kham</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Piotr smiled in a nervous and aggrieved manner, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “You don’t like it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like it,” said Elisaveta calmly. + </p> + <p> + With her habitual subjection to the thoughts and moods of her elder + sister, Elena said: + </p> + <p> + “It is a rude word. I feel a reminiscence of a once helpless serfdom in + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless this word is now sufficiently literary,” said Piotr, with a + vague smile. “And why shouldn’t one use it? It’s not the word that + matters. We have seen countless instances with our own eyes of the + progress of the spiritual bossiak<a href="#linknote-4" name="linknoteref-4" + id="linknoteref-4"><small>4</small></a> who is savagely indifferent to + everything, who is hopelessly wild, malicious, and drunken for generations + to come. He will crush everything—science, art, everything! A good + characteristic specimen of a <i>kham</i> is your Stchemilov, with whom, + Elisaveta, you sympathize so strongly. He’s a familiar young fellow, a + handsome flunkey.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr fixed his eyes on Elisaveta. She replied calmly: + </p> + <p> + “I think you very unjust to him. He is a good man.” + </p> + <p> + Every one was glad when dinner was ended. It was a provoking conversation. + Even the imperturbable Miss Harrison rose from her place rather sooner + than usual. Rameyev went to his own room to get his hour’s nap. The young + people went into the garden. Misha and Elena ran downhill to the river. + They had a keen desire to run one after the other and to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Elisaveta!” called out Piotr. + </p> + <p> + His voice trembled nervously. Elisaveta paused. She now stood within the + deep shadow of an old linden. She looked questioningly at Piotr, her + graceful bare arms folded on her breast; suddenly her heart beat faster. + What a power of bewitchment was in those most lovable arms—oh, why + did not some sudden impulse of passion throw them upon his shoulders! + </p> + <p> + “May I speak a few words to you, Elisaveta?” asked Piotr. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta flushed a little, lowered her head, and said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Let’s sit down somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + She walked along the path towards the small summer-house which looked down + the slope. Piotr followed her silently. In silence also they ascended the + steep passage. Elisaveta seated herself and rested her arms upon the low + rail of the open summer-house. The undulating distances lay before her in + one broad panoramic sweep—a view intimate from childhood, and which + never failed to awaken the same delightful emotion. She was looking no + longer at the separate objects—Nature poured herself out like music + before her, in an inexhaustible play of colour and of soothing sound. + Piotr stood before her and looked at her handsome face. The setting Dragon + caressed Elisaveta’s face with its warm light; the skin thus suffused + exulted in its radiance and bloom. + </p> + <p> + They were silent. Both felt a painful awkwardness. Piotr was nervously + breaking twigs from a birch near by. Elisaveta began: + </p> + <p> + “What is it you wish to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + A cold remoteness, almost enmity, sounded in her deeply agitated voice. + She felt her own harshness, to soften which she smiled gently and timidly. + </p> + <p> + “What’s there to say,” began Piotr quietly and irresolutely, “but one and + the same thing. Elisaveta, I love you!” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta flushed. Her eyes gave a sudden flare, then grew dull. She rose + from her seat and spoke in an agitated manner: + </p> + <p> + “Piotr, why do you again torment yourself and me needlessly? We have been + so intimate from childhood—yet it seems that we must part! Our ways + are different, we think differently, and believe differently.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr listened to her with an expression of intense impatience and + vexation. Elisaveta wished to continue, but he interrupted: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but what’s the good of saying that? Elisaveta, do, I beg you, forget + our differences. They are so petty! Or let us admit that they are + significant. What I wish to say is that politics and all that separates us + is only a light scum, a momentary froth on the broad surface of our life. + In love there is revelation, there is eternal truth. He who does not love, + he who does not strive towards union with a beloved, he is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “I love the people, I love freedom,” said Elisaveta quietly. “My love is + revolt.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr, ignoring her words, went on: + </p> + <p> + “You know that I love you. I have loved you a long time. My whole soul is + absorbed as with light with my love for you. I am jealous—and I’m + not ashamed to tell you I am jealous of your favour to any one; I am even + jealous of this bloused workman, whose accomplice you would be if he had + had the sufficient boldness and the brain to be a conspirator; I am + jealous of the half-truths which have captivated you and screen your love + of me.” + </p> + <p> + Again Elisaveta spoke quietly: + </p> + <p> + “You reproach me for what is dear to me, for my better part, you wish that + I should become different. You do not love me, you are tempted by the + beautiful Beast—my young body with its smiles and its caresses....” + </p> + <p> + And again ignoring what she said, Piotr asserted passionately: + </p> + <p> + “Elisaveta, dearest, love me! You surely do not love any one else! Isn’t + that so? You do not love any one? You have had no time to fall in love, to + fetter your soul to any one else’s. You are as free as man’s first bride, + you are as superb as his last wife. You have grown ripe for love—for + my love—you too are thirsty for kisses and embraces, even as I. O + Elisaveta, love me, love me!” + </p> + <p> + “How can I?” said Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “Elisaveta, if you’d only will it!” exclaimed Piotr. “One must wish to + love. If you only understood how I love you, you would love me also. My + love should fire in you a responsive love.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend, you do not love anything that is mine,” answered Elisaveta. + “You do not love me. I don’t believe you—forgive me—I don’t + understand your love.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr frowned gloomily and said gruffly: + </p> + <p> + “You have been fascinated by that false, empty word freedom. You have + never thought over its true meaning.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had little time to think over anything,” observed Elisaveta calmly, + “but the feeling of freedom is the thing nearest to me. I cannot express + it in words—I only know that we are fettered on this earth by iron + bonds of necessity and of circumstance, but the nature of my soul is + freedom; its fire is consuming the chains of my material dependence. I + know that we human beings will always be frail, poor, lonely; but a time + will surely come when we shall pass through the purifying flame of a great + conflagration; then a new earth and a new heaven shall open up to us; + through union we shall attain our final freedom. I know I am saying all + this badly, incoherently—I cannot say clearly what I feel—but + let us, please, say no more.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta strode out of the summer-house. Piotr slowly followed her. His + face was sad and his eyes shone feverishly, but he could not utter a word—inertia + gripped his mind. Quite suddenly he roused himself, raised his head, + smiled, overtook Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “You love me, Elisaveta,” he said with joyous assurance. “You love me, + though you won’t admit it. You are not speaking the truth when you say + that you don’t understand my love. You do know my love, you do believe in + it—tell me, is it possible to love so strongly and not be loved in + return?” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta stopped. Her eyes lit up with a strange joy. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you once more,” she said with calm resolution, “it is not me you + love—you love the First Bride. I am going where I must.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr stood there and looked after her—helpless, pale, dejected. + Between the bushes a sun-yellow dress fluttered against the now dull sky + of a setting sun. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Piotr and Elisaveta descended towards the boat landing. Two rowing-boats + seemed to rock on the water, though there was no breeze and the water was + smooth like a mirror. A little farther, behind the bushes, the canvas roof + of the bath-house stood revealed. Elena, Misha, and Miss Harrison were + already there. They were sitting on a bench halfway down the slope, where + the path to the landing was broken. The view from here, showing the bend + of the river, was very restful. The water was growing darker, heavier, + gradually assuming a leadlike dullness. + </p> + <p> + Misha and Elena, flushed with running, could not suppress their smiles. + The Englishwoman looked calmly at the river, and nothing shocked her in + the evening landscape and in the peaceful water. But now two persons came + who brought with them their poignant unrest, their uneasiness, their + confusion—and again an endless wrangle began. + </p> + <p> + They left this bench, from which one could look into such a great distance + and see nothing but calm and peace everywhere. They descended below to the + very bank. Even at this close range the water was still and smooth, and + the agitated words of the restless people did not cause the broad sheet to + stir. Misha picked up thin, flat stones and threw them underhand into the + distance so that, touching the water, they skipped repeatedly on the + surface. He did this habitually whenever the wrangling distressed him. His + hands trembled, the little stones ricochetted badly sometimes; this + annoyed him, but he tried to hide his annoyance and to look cheerful. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta said: + </p> + <p> + “Misha, let’s see who can throw the better. Let’s try for pennies.” + </p> + <p> + They began to play. Misha was losing. + </p> + <p> + At the turn of the river, from the direction of the town, a rowing-boat + appeared. Piotr looked searchingly into the distance, and said in a vexed + voice: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Stchemilov, our intelligent workman, the Social Democrat of the + Russia Party, is again about to honour us.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta smiled. She asked with gentle reproof: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you dislike him so?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you tell me,” exclaimed Piotr, “why this party calls itself the + Russia Party, and not the Russian Party? Why this high tone?” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta answered with her usual calm: + </p> + <p> + “It is called the Russia and not the Russian Party because it includes not + only the Russian, but also the Lithuanian, the Armenian, the Jew, and men + of other races who happen to be citizens of Russia. It seems to me this is + quite comprehensible.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not understand,” said Piotr obstinately. “I see in it only + unnecessary pretence.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime the boat drew nearer. Two men were sitting in it. Aleksei + Makarovitch Stchemilov, a young working man, a locksmith by trade, sat at + the oars. He was thin and of medium height; there was a suggestion of + irony in the shape of his lips. Elisaveta had known Stchemilov since the + past autumn, when she became acquainted with other labouring men and party + workmen. + </p> + <p> + The boat touched the landing, and Stchemilov sprang out gracefully. Piotr + remarked derisively as he bowed with exaggerated politeness: + </p> + <p> + “My homage to the proletariat of all lands.” + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov answered quietly: + </p> + <p> + “My most humble respects to the gentleman student.” + </p> + <p> + He exchanged greetings with all; then, turning with special deference + towards Elisaveta, said: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve rowed back your property. It was almost taken from me. Our + suburbanites have their own conceptions of the divine rights of + ownership.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr boiled over with vexation—the very sight of this young + blouse-wearer irritated him beyond bounds; he thought Stchemilov’s manners + and speech arrogant. Piotr said sharply: + </p> + <p> + “As far as I understand your notion of things, it is not rights that are + holy, but brute force.” + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov whistled and said: + </p> + <p> + “That is the origin of all ownership. You simply took a thing—and + that’s all there was to it. ‘Blessed are the strong’ is a little adage + among those who have conquered violently.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did you get hold of this?” asked Piotr with derision. + </p> + <p> + “Crumbs of wisdom fall from the tables of the rich even to us,” answered + Stchemilov in a no less contemptuous tone; “we nourish ourselves on these + small trifles.” + </p> + <p> + The other young man, clearly a workman also, remained in the boat. He + looked rather timid, lean, and taciturn, and had gleaming eyes. + </p> + <p> + He sat holding on to the ropes of the rudder, and was looking cautiously + towards the bank. Stchemilov looked at him with amused tenderness and + called to him: + </p> + <p> + “Come here, Kiril, don’t be afraid; there are kindly people here—quite + disposed to us, in fact.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr grumbled angrily under his breath. Misha smiled. He was eager to see + the new-comer, though he hated violent discussions. Kiril got out of the + boat awkwardly, and no less awkwardly stood up on the sand, his face + averted; he smiled to hide his uneasiness. Piotr’s irritation grew. + </p> + <p> + “Please be seated,” he said, trying to assume a pleasant tone. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve done a lot of sitting,” answered Kiril in an artificial bass voice. + </p> + <p> + He continued to smile, but sat down on the edge of the bench, so that he + nearly fell over; his arms shot up into the air, and one of his hands + brushed against Elisaveta. He felt vexed with himself, and he flushed. As + he moved away from the edge he remarked: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve sat two months in administrative order."<a href="#linknote-5" + name="linknoteref-5" id="linknoteref-5"><small>5</small></a> + </p> + <p> + Every one understood these strange words. Piotr asked: + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + Kiril seemed embarrassed. He answered with a morose uneasiness: + </p> + <p> + “It’s all a very simple affair with us—you do the slightest thing, + and they try at once the most murderous measures.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Stchemilov said very quietly to Elisaveta: + </p> + <p> + “Not a bad chap. He wants to become acquainted with you, comrade.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta silently inclined her head, smiled amiably at Kiril, and pressed + his hand. His face brightened. + </p> + <p> + Rameyev came up to them. He greeted his visitors pleasantly but coldly, + giving an impression of studied correctness. The conversation continued + somewhat awkwardly. Elisaveta’s blue eyes looked gently and pensively at + the irritated Piotr and at his deliberately inimical adversary Stchemilov. + </p> + <p> + Piotr asked: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Stchemilov, would you care to explain to me this talk of an autocracy + by the proletariat? You admit the need of an autocracy, but only wish to + shift it to another centre? In what way is this an improvement?” + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov answered quite simply: + </p> + <p> + “You masters and possessors do not wish to give us anything—neither + a fraction of an ounce of power nor of possessions; what’s left for us to + do?” + </p> + <p> + “What’s your immediate object?” put in Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + “Immediate or ultimate—what’s that!” answered Stchemilov. “We have + only one object: the public ownership of the machinery of production.” + </p> + <p> + “What of the land?” cried out Piotr rather shrilly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the land too we consider as machinery of production,” answered + Stchemilov. + </p> + <p> + “You imagine that there is an infinite amount of land in Russia?” asked + Piotr with bitter irony. + </p> + <p> + “Not an infinite amount, but certainly enough to go round—and plenty + for every one,” was Stchemilov’s calm reply. + </p> + <p> + “Ten—or, say, a hundred—acres per soul? Is that what you + mean?” continued Piotr in loud derision. “You’ve got that idea into the + heads of the muzhiks, and now they’re in revolt.” + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov again whistled, and said with contemptuous calm: + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlesticks! The muzhik is not as stupid as all that. And in any case, + let me ask you what hindered the opposing side from hammering the right + ideas into the muzhik’s mind?” + </p> + <p> + Piotr got up angrily and strode away without saying another word. Rameyev + looked quietly after him and said to Stchemilov: + </p> + <p> + “Piotr loves culture, or, more properly speaking, civilization, too well + to appreciate freedom. You insist too strongly on your class interests, + and therefore freedom is no such great lure to you. But we Russian + constitutionalists are carrying on the struggle for freedom almost alone.” + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov listened to him and made an effort to suppress an ironic smile. + </p> + <p> + “It’s true,” he said, “we won’t join hands with you. You wish to fly about + in the free air; while we are still ravenously hungry and want to eat.” + </p> + <p> + Rameyev said after a brief silence: + </p> + <p> + “I am appalled at this savagery. Murders every day, every day.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s there to do?” asked Stchemilov, persisting in his ironic tone. “I + suppose you’d like to have freedom for domestic use, the sort you could + fold up and put in your pocket.” + </p> + <p> + Rameyev, making no effort to disguise his desire of closing the + conversation, rose, smiling, and stretched out his hand to Stchemilov. + </p> + <p> + “I must go now.” + </p> + <p> + Misha was about to follow him, but changed his mind and ran towards the + river. He found his fishing-rod near the bath-house and entered the water + up to his knees. He had long ago accustomed himself to go to the river + when agitated by sadness or joy or when he had to think about something + very seriously. He was a shy and self-sufficient boy and loved to be alone + with his thoughts and his dreams. The coolness of the water running fast + about his legs comforted him and banished evil moods. As he stood here, + with his naked legs in the water, he became gentle and calm. + </p> + <p> + Elena soon came there also. She stood silently on the bank and looked at + the water. For some reason she felt sad and wanted to cry. + </p> + <p> + The water glided past her tranquilly, almost noiselessly. Its surface was + smooth—and thus it ran on. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta looked at Stchemilov with mild displeasure. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so sharp, Aleksei?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t like it, comrade?” he asked in return. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t like it,” said Elisaveta in simple, unmistakable tones. + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov did not reply at once. He grew thoughtful, then said: + </p> + <p> + “The abyss that separates us from your cousin is too broad. And even + between us and your father. It is hard to come together with them. Their + chief concern, as you very well know, is to construct a pyramid out of + people; ours to scatter this pyramid in an even stratum over the earth. + That’s how it is, Elizaveta.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta showed her annoyance and corrected him: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Elisaveta</i>. How many times have I told you?” + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov smiled. + </p> + <p> + “A lordly caprice, comrade Elisaveta. Well, as you like, though it is a + trifle hard to pronounce. Now we would say Lizaveta.” + </p> + <p> + Kiril complained of his failures, of the police, of the detectives, of the + patriots. His complaints were pitiful and depressing. He had been arrested + and had lost his job. It was easy to see that he had suffered. The gleam + of hunger trembled in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The police treated me most horribly,” complained Kiril, “and then there’s + my family....” + </p> + <p> + After an awkward silence he continued: + </p> + <p> + “Not a single thing escapes them at our factory, you get humiliated at + every step. They actually search you.” + </p> + <p> + Again he lapsed into silence. Again he complained: + </p> + <p> + “They force their way into your soul. You can’t hold private + conversations.... They stop at nothing.” + </p> + <p> + He told of hunger, he told of a sick old woman. All this was very + touching, but it had lost its freshness by constant repetition—the + pity of it had become, as it were, stamped out. Kiril, indeed, was a + common type, whose state of mind made him valuable as material to be used + up at an opportune moment in the interests of a political cause. + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov was saying: + </p> + <p> + “The Black Hundred are organizing. Zherbenev is very busy at this—he’s + one of your genuine Russians.” + </p> + <p> + “Kerbakh is with him—another patriot for you,” observed Kiril. + </p> + <p> + “The most dangerous man in our town, this Zherbenev. Vermin of the most + foul kind,” said Stchemilov contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to kill him,” said Kiril hotly. + </p> + <p> + To this Elisaveta said: + </p> + <p> + “In order to kill a man you need to believe that one man is essentially + better or worse than another, that he is distinct from the other not + accidentally or socially, but in the mystic sense. That is to say, murder + only confirms inequality.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way, Elisaveta,” remarked Stchemilov, “we have come to talk + business with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what it is,” answered Elisaveta calmly. + </p> + <p> + “We are expecting some comrades from Rouban within the next few days. They + are coming to talk things over,” said Stchemilov; “but of course you know + all that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “We want to use the occasion,” went on Stchemilov, “to organize a mass + meeting not far from here for our town factory folk. So here, at last, is + your chance to appear as an orator.” + </p> + <p> + “How can I be of any use?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “You have the gift of expression, Elisaveta,” said Stchemilov. “You have a + good voice, an easy flow of language, and you have a way of putting the + case simply and clearly. It would be a sin for you not to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “We will bring down the Cadets<a href="#linknote-6" name="linknoteref-6" + id="linknoteref-6"><small>6</small></a> a peg or two,” said Kiril in his + bass voice. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll forgive Kiril, comrade Elisaveta,” said Stchemilov. “I don’t think + he knows that your father is a Cadet. Besides, he’s a rather simple, frank + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + Kiril grew red. + </p> + <p> + “I know so little,” said Elisaveta timidly. “What shall I talk about, and + how?” + </p> + <p> + “You know enough,” said the other confidently; “more than myself and Kiril + put together. You do things remarkably well. Everything you say is so + clear and accurate.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I talk about?” + </p> + <p> + “You can draw a picture of the general condition of working men,” answered + Stchemilov, “and how capital is forging a hammer against itself and + compelling labour to organize.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta grew red and silently inclined her head. + </p> + <p> + “Then it’s all settled, comrade?” asked Stchemilov. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta burst into a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, settled,” she exclaimed cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + It was good to hear this gravely and simply pronounced word “comrade.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + The sweet, quiet night came, and brought her enchantments. The weary din + of day lost itself in oblivion. The clear, tranquil, anaemic moon + encircled herself with her own radiance, basked in her own light. She + looked at the earth and did not dissipate the mist—it was as if she + had taken to herself all the brightness and translucence of the sun’s last + afterglow. A calm poured itself out upon the earth and upon the water, and + embraced every tree, every bush, every blade of grass. + </p> + <p> + A soothing mood took possession of Elisaveta. It struck her as strange + that they should have quarrelled and stood facing one another like + enemies. Why shouldn’t she love him? Why not give herself up to him, + submit to the will of another, make it her will? Why all this noisy + discussion, these fine, yet remote words about a struggle, about ideals? + </p> + <p> + Every one in the house, she thought, was tired—was it with the heat? + With wrangling? With a secret sorrow inducing sleep, soothingness? The + sisters went to their rooms somewhat earlier than usual. Fatigue and a + languorous sadness oppressed them. The sisters’ bedrooms were next to each + other, one entering the other by a wide, always open door. They could hear + one another. The even breathing of her sleeping sister gave a poignant + reality to the terrible world of night and slumber. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta and Elena did not converse long that night. They parted early. + Elisaveta undressed herself, lit a candle, and began to admire herself in + the cold, dead, indifferent mirror. Pearl-like were the moon’s reflections + on the lines of her graceful body. Palpitating were her white girlish + breasts, crowned by two rubies. The living, passionate form stood flaming + and throbbing, strangely white in the tranquil rays of the moon. The + gradual curves of the body and legs were precise and delicate. The skin + stretched across the knees hinted at the elastic energy that it covered. + And equally elastic and energetic were the curves of the calves and the + feet. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta’s body flamed all over, as though a fire had penetrated the + whole sweet, sensitive flesh; and oh, how she wished to press, to cling, + to embrace! If he would only come! Only by day he spoke to her his + dead-sounding words of love, kindled by the kisses of the accursed Dragon. + Oh, if he would only come by night to the secretly flaming great Fire of + the blossoming Flesh! + </p> + <p> + Did he love her? Was his a final and a single-souled love conquering by + the eternal spirit of the divine Aphrodite? Where love is there daring + should be also. Is love, then, gentle, meek, obedient? Is it not a flame, + decreed to take what is its own without waiting? + </p> + <p> + Her eager, impatient fancies seethed. If he only had come he would have + been a young god. But he was only a human being who bowed down before his + idol; he was a small slave of a small demon. He did not come, he had not + dared, he had not guessed: a dark grief came over Elisaveta from the + secret seething of her passion. + </p> + <p> + As she looked at her wonderful image in the mirror, Elisaveta thought: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he is praying. The weak and the haughty—why do they pray? + They should be taught to be joyous, to remake their religion and be the + first in the new sect.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta could not sleep. Desire tormented her; she did not know what she + wanted—was it to go?—to wait? She walked out on the balcony. + The nocturnal coolness caressed her naked body. She stood there long; the + contact of her naked feet with the warm, moist boards was pleasant. She + looked into the pale light of the mist-wrapt garden dreaming there under + the moon. She recalled at this moment the details of the day’s walk, and + all that they had seen in Trirodov’s house; she recalled it all so + clearly, with almost the vividness of a hallucination. Then a drowsiness + crept up, seized her. And Elisaveta could not recall later how she found + herself in her bed. It was almost as if an invisible being had carried + her, tucked her in, and rocked her to sleep. + </p> + <p> + It was a restless, tormenting sleep. She saw horrible visions, nightmares. + They were remarkably clear and real. + </p> + <p> + She was in a very dusty room. The air in it was stifling, it oppressed her + breast. The walls were covered with bookcases filled with books. The + tables were also covered with books—all new, slender, with bright + covers. The title-pages were for some reason ponderous, terrible to look + at. A tall, gaunt, long-haired student entered; his hair was very + straight, his face morose and grey, he wore spectacles. He whispered: + </p> + <p> + “Hide them.” + </p> + <p> + And he placed on the table a bundle of books and pamphlets. Some one + behind Elisaveta stretched out a hand, took the books, and thrust them + under the table. Then came a woman student, strangely resembling the man + student yet quite different; she was short, thick, red-cheeked, + short-haired, cheerful, and wore pince-nez. She also brought a bundle of + books, and said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Hide them.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta hid the books in the bookcase and was afraid of something. + </p> + <p> + Then came more students, working men, young women, schoolboys, military + men, officials, and clerks; each, placing a packet of books on the table, + whispered: + </p> + <p> + “Hide them.” + </p> + <p> + Each one slipped away. And Elisaveta went to work to hide the books. She + put them in the table drawer, in the cupboard, under the sofas, behind the + doors, and in the fireplace. But the pile of books on the table grew and + grew; more and more persistent became the whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Hide them.” + </p> + <p> + There was no hiding-place left, and yet the books were still being brought + in—there was no end to them. Everywhere books—they were + pressing on her breast.... + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta awakened. Some one’s face was bending over her. The bedcover + slipped from her handsome body. Elena was whispering something. Elisaveta + asked her in a drowsy voice: + </p> + <p> + “Did I wake you?” + </p> + <p> + “You cried out so,” said Elena. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had such a stupid dream,” whispered Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + She went to sleep again, and again the same hoard of books. There were so + many books that even the window-sills were piled up with them, and a dim + and dusty gleam of light barely penetrated. An ominous silence tormented + her. Behind the counter at her side stood a student and two boys, + strangely erect; they were pale, and seemed to wait for something. All at + once the door opened noiselessly. Many men entered, making a loud noise + with their boots—first a police official, then another, then a + detective in gold-rimmed spectacles, a house-porter, another house-porter, + a muzhik, a policeman, another muzhik, another house-porter. More and more + came; they filled the room, and still they came—huge, moody, silent + fellows. Elisaveta felt it stifling; she awoke. + </p> + <p> + Again she dropped into sleep, again she was tormented by horrible visions + oppressing the breast. + </p> + <p> + She dreamt that the house was being searched. + </p> + <p> + “An illegal book!” exclaimed a detective, looking ominously at her as he + put a book on the table. + </p> + <p> + The pile of the illegal books on the table began to grow. They were + examined and shaken. A police official sat down to make out a list. The + pen ran on, but there was not enough paper. + </p> + <p> + “More paper!” cried the official. + </p> + <p> + Page was filled after page. The official mocked at her, threatened her + with a revolver. + </p> + <p> + Once more she awoke, once more she fell asleep. And still another dream. + </p> + <p> + A small, frail schoolmaster with a squeaky voice came. Then another, a + third, and still others—an endless flock of peaceful men with wails + of revolt. + </p> + <p> + And yet another dream. + </p> + <p> + The city square was bathed in the bright sunlight. A muzhik appeared and + shouted at the top of his voice: + </p> + <p> + “Hey there! Stand up for your gov’r-ment, and for holy Russia!” + </p> + <p> + Another muzhik came in answer to his shout, then a third and a fourth. + Slowly and steadily the crowd grew, the turmoil increased. A muzhik in a + white apron wearing a conspicuous emblem<a href="#linknote-7" + name="linknoteref-7" id="linknoteref-7"><small>7</small></a> made his way + through the crowd and, screwing up his mouth, cried like a madman: + </p> + <p> + “For Rush-ya, I say, fel-lows, kill ‘em!” + </p> + <p> + He threw himself on Elisaveta and began to strangle her. + </p> + <p> + She awoke. + </p> + <p> + Again there was a dark, terrible dream. Nothing as yet was to be seen, it + was hard to tell what was happening. But fear filled the intense darkness. + Dark figures seemed to throng in it. The darkness cleared a little, the + atmosphere became ominously grey. A narrow courtyard slowly outlined + itself, flanked by high walls with windows closely intersected by bars. + Her heart whispered audibly: + </p> + <p> + “A prison. A prison courtyard.” + </p> + <p> + Out of a narrow door prisoners were being conducted into the still dark + courtyard on a cold early morning in winter. They walked in single file—a + soldier, a prisoner, a soldier, a prisoner, a soldier—there seemed + to be no end to it; there was a steady shuffling of feet across the + courtyard. A small gate opened in the wall with a creaking sound. All + walked through it. And beyond the wall Elisaveta already caught a glimpse + of a flat, endless field of snow, and of a whole row of gallows that + stretched into the invisible distance. They were approaching these nearer + and nearer—to meet their fate. + </p> + <p> + She could not remember how it happened, but she also walked with them. A + soldier strode in front of her and in front of the soldier was a boy. + Though the boy had his back to her she recognized him—it was Misha. + Terror paralysed her tongue—when she tried to cry out she could not + find her voice. Terror fettered her feet—when she tried to run she + remained rooted to the spot. Terror gripped her arms—when she tried + to lift them they hung helplessly at her sides. + </p> + <p> + People were being hanged at the nearest gallows and the prisoners had to + walk past the hanged ones to the gallows beyond. Misha was being hanged, + but he broke loose. He was hanged again, and again he broke loose. This + happened an endless number of times, and each time he broke loose. + </p> + <p> + She could see a furious face and the grey bristles of trimmed moustaches. + She could hear the malignant cry: + </p> + <p> + “We must finish him off!” + </p> + <p> + A shot was fired; there was a low, dull discharge: the boy fell and began + to toss on the ground. Another shot—the boy kept on tossing. The + shots came faster—but the boy was still alive. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta awoke; this time she did not go to sleep again. Her heart beat + half with pain, half with joy, because it was but a dream—but a + dream! Her heart was bright with exultant joy. + </p> + <p> + The golden arrows of the yet quiet and gentle Dragon fell softly with + sidelong glances. Evidently it was still early. In the distance Elisaveta + could hear the sound of a horn and the lowing of cows. The bedroom walls + were tinged with rose light. The early light stole in through the windows + and messaged an altogether new, better day. A refreshing breeze blew in + through the open window, the twitter of birds also entered, the air + resounded with early morning joy. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta was soon aware that Elena was also awake. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Both sisters had slept badly that night. Elisaveta was worn out by + nightmares, while Elena woke several times and went to her. Both felt the + sweet after-dizziness of sleep suddenly cut short by the Dragon’s sickles. + Their memories pursued one another in a confused, vivid flock. They began + to recall the circumstances of yesterday’s visit. A secret agitation, akin + to shame, stole over them. Little by little they conquered this feeling + during the day. Alone again, they discussed what they had seen at + Trirodov’s. A strange forgetfulness came upon them. The details of the + visit grew more vague the more they tried to recall them. They found + themselves in constant disagreement, and corrected one another. It might + have been a dream. Now it seemed one, now the other. Was it reality or a + dream? Where is the border-line? Whether life be a sweet or a bitter + dream, it passes by like a swift vision! + </p> + <p> + Three days passed by. Again the day was quiet and clear, again the high + Dragon smiled his malignant, excessively bright smile. He counted, as he + rose, his livid seconds, his flaming minutes; and he let fall upon the + earth, with a scarcely perceptible echo, his lead-heavy but transparent + hours. It was three o’clock in the afternoon; they had just finished + luncheon. The Rameyevs and the Matovs were at home. Again Elisaveta + wrangled with Piotr and, as before, the discussion was long, heated and + discordant—every one left the table flustered and depressed; the + hopeless confusion of it all deeply affected even the usually composed + Miss Harrison. + </p> + <p> + The sisters were left by themselves. They went out on the lower balcony + and pretended to read. They appeared to be waiting for something. This + waiting made their hearts beat fast under their heaving breasts. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta, letting the book fall upon her knees, was the first to break + the heavy silence. + </p> + <p> + “I think he is coming to-day.” + </p> + <p> + The breeze blew at that moment, there was a rustle in the foliage and a + little bird suddenly began to chirp away somewhere—and it seemed as + if the depressed garden were glad because of these lively, resonant, + quickly uttered words. + </p> + <p> + “Who?” asked Elena. + </p> + <p> + The insincerity of her question made her flush quite suddenly. She knew + very well whom Elisaveta meant. The latter glanced at her and said: + </p> + <p> + “Trirodov, of course. It is strange that we should be waiting for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he promised to come,” said Elena indecisively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Elisaveta, “I think he said something at that strange + mirror.” + </p> + <p> + “It was earlier,” observed Elena. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am mixing it all up,” said Elisaveta. “I don’t understand how I + could forget so quickly.” + </p> + <p> + “I too am tangling things up badly,” confessed Elena, astonished at + herself. “I feel very tired, I don’t know why.” + </p> + <p> + The soft noise of wheels over a sandy road grew closer and closer. At last + a light trap, drawn by a horse in English harness, could be seen turning + into the alley of birches and stopping before the house. The sisters rose + nervously. Their faces wore their habitually pleasant smiles and their + hands did not tremble. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov gave the reins to Kirsha, who drove away. + </p> + <p> + The meeting proved an embarrassing one. The sisters’ agitation was evident + in their polite, empty phrases. They entered the drawing-room. Presently + Rameyev, accompanied by the Matov brothers, came in to welcome the guest. + There was the usual exchange of compliments, of meaningless phrases—as + everywhere, as always. + </p> + <p> + Piotr was uneasy and hostile. He spoke abruptly and with evident + unwillingness. Misha looked on with curiosity. He liked Trirodov—he + had already heard something about him which assured pleasant relations + between them. + </p> + <p> + The conversation developed rapidly and politely. Not a word was said about + the sisters’ visit to Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve heard a great deal about you,” began Rameyev, “I’m glad to know + you.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov smiled, and his smile seemed slightly derisive. Elisaveta + remarked: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you think our being glad to see you merely a polite phrase.” + </p> + <p> + There was sharpness in her voice. Elisaveta, realizing this, suddenly + flushed. Rameyev looked at her in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t think that,” put in Trirodov. “There’s real pleasure in + meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the usual thing to say in polite society,” said Piotr quietly. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov glanced at him with a smile and turned to Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + “I say it in all sincerity, I am glad to have made your acquaintance. I + live very much alone and so am all the more glad of the fortunate + circumstance that has brought me here on a matter of business.” + </p> + <p> + “Business?” asked Rameyev in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I can put the matter in a few words,” said Trirodov. “I wish to extend my + estate.” + </p> + <p> + There was a tinge of sadness in Rameyev’s answer: + </p> + <p> + “You have bought the better part of the Prosianiya Meadows.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov said: + </p> + <p> + “It’s not quite large enough. I should like to acquire the rest of it—for + my colony.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t like to let the rest go,” remarked Rameyev. “It belongs to + Piotr and Misha.” + </p> + <p> + “As far as it concerns me,” put in Piotr, “I’d sell my share with the + greatest pleasure before those ‘comrade’ fellows take it from me for + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Misha was silent, but it was evident that the thought of selling his + native soil was distasteful to him. He seemed on the point of bursting + into tears. + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion,” observed Rameyev, “the land needn’t be sold. I shouldn’t + advise it. I wouldn’t think of selling Misha’s share until he came of age—and + I shouldn’t advise you to sell yours either, Piotr.” + </p> + <p> + Misha, gladdened, glanced gratefully at Rameyev, who continued: + </p> + <p> + “I can direct you to another plot of land which happens to be on sale. I + hope it will suit your needs.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov thanked him. + </p> + <p> + His educational institution now became the topic of conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Your school, of course, brings you into contact with the Headmaster of + the National Schools. How do you manage to get along with him?” asked + Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov smiled contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “A clumsy person, this fellow with his feminine voice,” went on Rameyev. + “He’s an ambitious, cold-blooded man. He’s likely to do you an injury.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m used to it,” answered Trirodov calmly. “We are all used to it.” + </p> + <p> + “They might close your school,” suggested Piotr in a tone of sharp + derision. + </p> + <p> + “And again they might not,” asserted Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “But if they should?” persisted Piotr. + </p> + <p> + “Let us hope for the best,” said Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta looked affectionately at her father. But Trirodov said quietly + in his own defence: + </p> + <p> + “The school might be closed, but it is hard to prevent any one from living + on the soil and running a farm. If the school should cease being a mere + school and become an educational farm, it would succeed in replacing the + large farms as they are now run by their proprietors.” + </p> + <p> + “But that is Utopia,” said Piotr in some irritation. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, we’ll establish Utopia,” said Trirodov, unruffled. + </p> + <p> + “But as a beginning you hope to destroy what exists?” asked Piotr. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” exclaimed Trirodov, astonished. + </p> + <p> + Strangely agitated, Piotr said: + </p> + <p> + “The comrades’ proposed division of land, if carried into force, would + lead to a crushing of culture and science.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand this alarm for science and culture,” replied Trirodov. + “Both one and the other are sufficiently strong to stand up for + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless,” argued Piotr, “monuments of civilization are being + demolished by this <i>Kham</i><a href="#linknote-8" name="linknoteref-8" + id="linknoteref-8"><small>8</small></a> who is trying to replace us.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not our monuments of civilization alone that are being destroyed,” + retorted Trirodov patiently. “This is very sad, of course, and proper + measures should be taken. But the sufferings of the people are so + great.... The value of human life is, after all, greater than the value of + such monuments.” + </p> + <p> + In this peculiarly Russian manner the conversation quickly passed on to + general themes. Trirodov, who took a large share in it, spoke with a calm + assurance. They listened to him with deep attention. + </p> + <p> + Of his five auditors only Piotr was not captivated. He was tormented by a + feeling of hostility to Trirodov. He glanced at Trirodov with suspicion + and hate. He was exasperated by Trirodov’s confident tone and facile + speech. Piotr’s remarks addressed to the visitor were often caustic, even + coarse. Rameyev looked vexed at Piotr now and then, but Trirodov appeared + not to notice his sallies, and was simple, tranquil, and courteous. In the + end Piotr was compelled to restrain himself and abandon his sharp manner. + Then he grew silent altogether. After Trirodov’s departure Piotr left the + room. It was evident that he did not wish to join in any discussion about + the visitor. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + The day was hot, sultry, windless—helplessly prostrate before the + arrowed glances of the infuriated Dragon. A number of city folk sought + coolness on the float, as the buffet at the steamboat-landing was called + in Skorodozh. It was less oppressive under the canvas roof of the float, + where at intervals gusts of breeze came from the river. + </p> + <p> + Piotr and Misha were in town to do some shopping. They stopped on the + float to get a glass of lemonade. A steamboat had just come in below them. + It began to unload the passengers and wares it brought from neighbouring + manufacturing towns. It was the boat’s last stopping-point, the river + higher up being too shallow. For a while there was much bustle and noise + on the float. The little tables were soon occupied by townsfolk and new + arrivals, chiefly officials and landlords. They drank wine and talked + loudly, though peacefully; they shouted in the provincial manner, and it + was easy to hear that many of the conversations touched more or less on + political themes. + </p> + <p> + Two men who sat at one table were in evident agreement, yet spoke in tones + of anger. They were the retired District Attorney Kerbakh and the retired + Colonel Zherbenev, both large land-proprietors and patriots—members + of the Union of Russian People.<a href="#linknote-9" name="linknoteref-9" + id="linknoteref-9"><small>9</small></a> Their speech was loud and + vehement, and interpolated with such strange words and phrases as + “treachery,” “sedition,” “hang them,” “wipe them out,” “give it to them.” + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Ilyitch Kerbakh was a small, thin, puny-looking man. The long, + drooping moustache on his otherwise clean-shaven face seemed to be there + merely to add to its already savage appearance. He rocked in his chair as + he lazily stretched himself. His large coat hung about his shoulders like + a bag, his highly coloured waistcoat was unbuttoned, his string necktie + hung loose, half undone. Altogether he had the look of a man who would not + let such small trifles stand in the way of his comfort. Near him, + fidgeting restlessly in his chair, was his son, a slobbering, + black-toothed youngster of eight, with a flagging, carmine-red under-lip. + </p> + <p> + Andrey Lavrentyevitch Zherbenev, a tall, lank man with an important air, + sat motionless and erect as though he were nailed to his chair, and + surveyed those round him with a stern glance. His white linen coat, with + all its buttons fastened, sat on him as on a bronze idol. + </p> + <p> + “In everything, I say, the parents are to blame,” continued Kerbakh in the + same savage voice as before. “It is necessary to instil the right ideas + from very childhood. Now look at my children....” + </p> + <p> + And he shouted at his son with unnecessary loudness, though the two sat + almost nudging each other: + </p> + <p> + “Sergey!” + </p> + <p> + “Yeth?” lisped the slobbering boy. + </p> + <p> + “Stand up before me and answer.” + </p> + <p> + The youngster slipped off his chair, stretched himself smartly to his full + height in front of his father, and lisped again: + </p> + <p> + “Yeth, father?” + </p> + <p> + And he surveyed those sitting at the other tables with a quick, sly look. + </p> + <p> + “What should be done with the enemies of the Tsar and the Fatherland?” + asked Kerbakh. + </p> + <p> + “They should be destroyed!” answered the boy alertly. + </p> + <p> + “And afterwards?” continued his father. + </p> + <p> + The boy quickly repeated the words he had studied: + </p> + <p> + “And afterwards the foul corpses of the vile enemies of the Fatherland + should be thrown on the dunghill.” + </p> + <p> + Kerbakh and Zherbenev laughed gleefully. + </p> + <p> + “That describes them—foul carrion, that’s what they are!” said + Zherbenev in a hoarse voice. + </p> + <p> + A new-comer at the next table, a stranger apparently to those present, was + giving an order for a bottle of beer. Of middle age and medium height, he + was stout, or rather flabby; he had small glittering eyes; and his dress + had seen much wear. Kerbakh and Zherbenev gave him an occasional passing + glance, not of a very friendly nature. As though they took it for granted + that the stranger held antagonistic views, they increased the vehemence of + their speeches and spoke more and more furiously of agitators and of + Little Mother Russia, and mentioned, by the way, a number of local + undesirables, Trirodov among them. + </p> + <p> + The new-comer scrutinized the two speakers for a long time. It was evident + that the name of Trirodov, often repeated in Kerbakh’s remarks, aroused an + intense interest, even agitation, in the stranger. His fixed scrutiny of + his two neighbours at last attracted their attention and they exchanged + annoyed glances. + </p> + <p> + Then the stranger ventured to join in their conversation. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he said, “unless I am mistaken, you were speaking of + Mr. Trirodov—am I right?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, you....” began Kerbakh. + </p> + <p> + The new-comer immediately jumped to his feet and began to apologize + profusely. + </p> + <p> + “May I impose upon your good nature to forgive my impertinent curiosity. I + am Ostrov, the actor—tragedian. You may have heard of me?” + </p> + <p> + “For the first time,” said Kerbakh surlily. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve never heard the name,” said Zherbenev. + </p> + <p> + The stranger smiled pleasantly, as if he had been commended, and continued + to speak without showing the slightest embarrassment: + </p> + <p> + “Well—er—I’ve played in many cities. I’m just passing through + here. I’m on my way to attend to some personal business in the Rouban + Government. And you just happened to mention a name very familiar to me.” + </p> + <p> + Kerbakh and Zherbenev exchanged glances. Malignant thoughts about Trirodov + again took possession of their minds. Ostrov continued: + </p> + <p> + “I had no suspicion that Trirodov lived here. He is a very old and + intimate acquaintance of mine. I might say we are friends.” + </p> + <p> + “So-o,” said Zherbenev severely, glancing at Ostrov with disapproval. + </p> + <p> + Something in Ostrov’s voice and manner aroused their antagonism. His + glance was certainly impudent. Indeed his words and his whole demeanour + were provokingly arrogant. But it was impossible to be rude with him. His + words were proper enough in themselves. + </p> + <p> + “We haven’t met for some years,” Ostrov went on. “How does he manage to + get on?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Trirodov is to all appearances a rich man,” said Kerbakh unwillingly. + </p> + <p> + “A rich man? That’s agreeable news. In fact, this wealth of Mr. Trirodov’s + is of comparatively recent origin. I’m quite sure of that. Of recent + origin, I assure you,” repeated Ostrov, giving a sly wink. + </p> + <p> + “And not of the cleanest?” asked Kerbakh. + </p> + <p> + He winked at Zherbenev. The latter made a grimace and chuckled. Ostrov + looked cautiously at Kerbakh. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you assume so?” he asked. “No-o, I shouldn’t say that. Quite + clean. Indeed, I can assure you of its clean origin,” he repeated with + peculiar emphasis. + </p> + <p> + Misha looked with curiosity at the speakers. He wished to hear something + about Trirodov. But Piotr quickly paid his bill and rose to go. Kerbakh + tried to hold him. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s a friend of your friend Trirodov,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t yet had time to become a friend of Trirodov’s,” Piotr answered + sharply, “and I don’t intend to. As for his friends, nearly every one has + his more or less strange acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + And he quickly left with Misha. Ostrov glanced after him with a smile and + said: + </p> + <p> + “A grave young man.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Trirodov has bought some land belonging to him and his brother,” + explained Kerbakh. + </p> + <p> + Piotr Matov’s hostility to Trirodov evidently had its roots in the chance + circumstance that Trirodov had bought the house and part of the estate, + the Prosianiya Meadows, which formerly belonged to the paternal Matov. + </p> + <p> + Many in the town of Skorodozh remembered very well Dmitry Alexandrovitch + Matov, the father of Piotr and Mikhail Matov. He had been a member of the + local District Council for a single term, and was not chosen again. He + could not hide his connexions and his affairs, and lost his reputation, + though the scandal was hushed up. This happened when times were still + quiet. During his term of office he paid visits to the governor more often + than necessary. + </p> + <p> + About the same time, in response to some one’s complaint, the President of + the District Council had been dispatched “in administrative order” to the + Olonetsk Government. There were dark rumours about Matov. At the next + election a few votes were given in his favour, but not enough. He ceased + to have any connexion with the District Council. + </p> + <p> + Matov’s money affairs were in a bad state. He led a heedless life, + dissipated, and roamed from place to place. Bold, headstrong, + unrestrained, he lived only for his own pleasure. More than once he + squandered all—to the last farthing. But invariably he found sudden + means again, no one knew how, and again he would lead a dissipated, gay, + profligate life. His estate was mortgaged and re-mortgaged. His relations + with the peasants began to be unbearable. Their own difficulties and his + temper led to constant disputes. A reign of spite began: the cattle were + driven into the corn, some of the buildings were set afire, some of the + peasants were gaoled. + </p> + <p> + The Prosianiya Meadows more than once passed from a period of lavish + prosperity to a state of complete and hopeless poverty. This was because + Matov was lucky enough to fall heir to several inheritances. Not only did + people say that luck was on his side, but they also hinted at forged + wills, strangled aunts, and poisoned children. Dark adventures of some + sort enriched and ruined Matov by turns. It was all like some dubious, + fantastic game of chance.... + </p> + <p> + During the lean days the ingeniously constructed buildings on his estate + were in a state of disrepair, the live stock showed decrease, the wheat + was got rid of quickly and cheaply, the wood was sold for a trifling sum + for lumber, the labourers were not paid for the work they had done. On the + other hand, during prosperous days, following the death of some relative, + things used to pick up in a marvellous way. Companies of carpenters, + masons, roofers, and painters would make their appearance. The owner’s + fancies were swiftly and energetically carried out. Money was spent + lavishly, without reckoning the cost. + </p> + <p> + Dmitry Alexandrovitch Matov was already forty years old, and many dark, + mad misdeeds weighed on his shoulders, when, quite unexpectedly to all and + possibly to himself, he married a young girl with excellent means and a + dark past. There was a report that she had been the mistress of a + dignitary, who had begun to grow weary of her. She managed, none the less, + to keep up her connexions and to collect capital. She would have been very + beautiful but for a strange stain—as from fire—on her left + cheek, which disfigured her. This spot was very conspicuous and completely + marred the beauty of her face. + </p> + <p> + Very shortly a fierce hatred arose between husband and wife, no one knew + why. The gossips said he was disappointed in his expectations, while she + had found out about his mistresses and revels and had got wind of the dark + rumours about his inheritances. The quarrels grew more frequent. Quite + often he left his home, and always suddenly. Once he took all valuables + with him and decamped, leaving with his wife only his mortgaged estate, + his debts, and their two sons. A short time afterwards all sorts of + reports came in about him. Some had seen him in Odessa, others in + Manchuria. Later even rumours ceased. + </p> + <p> + Then came the unexpected news of his death in a remote southern town. Its + cause remained unknown. Even his body had not been found. It was only + certain that he had been lured into an empty, uninhabited house—there + all trace of him was lost. + </p> + <p> + Matov’s widow soon died from a sudden, sharp illness. Her sons remained in + the house of Rameyev. He became their guardian. + </p> + <p> + “He’s an agitator and a conspirator,” said Zherbenev sharply. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov smiled. + </p> + <p> + “All the same, I must stand up for my friend. Pardon me if I ask the + question: are these calumnies against my friend actuated by patriotic + reasons? Of course, from the most honourable impulses!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not take up my time with calumnies,” said Zherbenev dryly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon. But I’ll not intrude upon you any longer. I’m very + grateful for the pleasant conversation and for the interesting + information.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov left them. Kerbakh and Zherbenev quietly discussed him. + </p> + <p> + “What a strange-looking man! Quite a beast!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, what a character! I shouldn’t like to meet him alone in the woods.” + </p> + <p> + “Our poet and doctor of chemistry has fine friends, I must say!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Elisaveta and Elena were walking again on a path close to the road that + connected the Prosianiya Meadows and the Rameyev estate. The sisters were + glad that it was so still and deserted around them and that the turmoil of + life seemed so remote from them. Life with all its bustling movement + seemed indeed distant, and it was a joy to dismiss all its conditions and + proprieties from their minds and to walk with bare feet upon the soft + ground, the sand, the clay, and the grass; it filled their hearts with a + simple, childlike, and chaste delight. + </p> + <p> + Both were dressed alike, in short frocks; there was a sash raised rather + high at the waist, two other bands crossed each other at the breast, the + sleeves were cut quite short at the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + They walked on farther, and their eyes contemplated gaily and + affectionately the half-hidden depths of the valleys, the woods, and the + thickets. A simple-hearted devotion to this lovable nature possessed them—it + was a sweet and tender devotion. It struck a deep note in Elisaveta, who + was in a mood of expectancy. If only she could have met some one deserving + of her love whom she might place at the crossings of all earthly and + heavenly roads, and to whom she might do obeisance! + </p> + <p> + This tender devotion aroused young virginal intoxication in Elena also. + She felt herself in love—not with any one in particular, but with + everything: as the air loves in the springtime, kissing all in its + gladness; as a stream’s currents love when they brush caressingly past + boys’ and girls’ pink knees—such were the currents of the stream + that suddenly became visible, winding its way among the green in the + direction of the River Skorodyen, into which it emptied itself. + </p> + <p> + The bridge was some way off, and so the sisters waded the stream. There + was the delicious coolness of the water round their knees. They remained + standing on the bank and admired the porcupines of sand, studded sparsely + with tall blades of grass as with spines; also the round pebbles made + smooth by the water. Their cooled legs felt for some time afterwards the + sensation of the water’s loving caresses. + </p> + <p> + Just as the running water falls in love with all beauty that is immersed + in it, so Elena fell in love with all that her vision evoked for her. + </p> + <p> + Most of all her love was directed towards Piotr. His love for Elisaveta + wounded her with a sweet pain. + </p> + <p> + The sisters descended into the hollow near Trirodov’s colony, ascended it + again to the other side, walked along the already familiar path, and + opened the gate—this time it yielded without effort. They entered. + Soon they saw a lake before them. The children and their instructresses + were bathing. There was a spirit of buoyancy in the brown nakedness + disporting itself in the buoyant waters—buoyant were the splashes, + the laughter, and the outcries! + </p> + <p> + The children and the instructresses walked out of the water upon the dry + ground and ran naked upon the sand. Their legs, bare and sunburnt, seemed + white in the green grass, like young birch-saplings growing out of the + earth. + </p> + <p> + They suddenly caught sight of the sisters, formed a ring of beautiful wet + bodies around them, and twirled in a circle at a fast, furious pace. The + discarded clothes that lay there close by seemed unnecessary to the + sisters at that moment. What, after all, was more beautiful and lovely + than the nude, eternal body? + </p> + <p> + The sisters learnt afterwards that they more often walked about naked here + than in their clothes. + </p> + <p> + The radiantly sad Nadezhda said to them: + </p> + <p> + “To lull the beast to sleep and to awaken the human being—that is + the reason of our nakedness.” + </p> + <p> + The dark, black-haired Maria said with ecstasy: + </p> + <p> + “We have bared our feet in order to come in closer contact with the earth; + we have become simple and happy, like people in the first garden. We have + discarded our clothes in order to come closer to the elements. Caressed by + these, clothed by the fire of the sun’s rays, we have discovered the human + being in us. This being is not the uncouth beast thirsting for blood, or + the townsman counting his profits—it is the human being, clean in + body and alive with love.” + </p> + <p> + So natural, indispensable, and inevitable seemed the nakedness of these + young, beautiful bodies that it appeared rather stupid to put on one’s + clothes afterwards. The sisters joined in with the naked dancers, and went + into the water and lay on the grass under the trees. It was pleasant to + feel the beauty, the grace, and the agility of their bodies among these + other twirling, beautiful, strong bodies. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta’s observant glance detected two types among the girl + instructresses. There were the rapturous ones and the dissembling ones. + </p> + <p> + The rapturous ones gave themselves up with a bacchic joy to a life lived + in the embrace of chaste nature: they fervently carried out all the rites + of the colony, joyously divested themselves of all fear and shame, made + great efforts and self-denials; and they laughed and they flamed, overcome + by a passionate thirst of noble actions and of love—a thirst which + not all the waters of this poor earth can quench. Among this number were + the sad Nadezhda and the ecstatic Maria. + </p> + <p> + The others, the dissembling ones, were those who had sold their time and + had parted with all their habits, inclinations, and proprieties for money. + They pretended that they loved children, simple life, and bodily beauty. + They did not find it hard to dissemble, for the others served them as + excellent models. + </p> + <p> + This time the sisters were shown the buildings of the colony, or at least + as much of them as they could see in an hour, and all sorts of things made + by the children—books and pictures—things that belonged to + this or that child. They were shown the fruit-orchard and the garden-beds, + above which the bees buzzed; and the air was fresh with the honeyed aroma + of flowers half lost in the tender softness of profuse grasses. + </p> + <p> + But the sisters soon left. + </p> + <p> + They had intended to go home, but somehow they lost their way among the + paths and found themselves in sight of Trirodov’s house. Elisaveta espied + the high turrets rising above the white wall and recalled Trirodov’s + neither young nor handsome face: she became suffused with a sweet passion, + as with a rich wine—but it was an emotion not free from pain. + </p> + <p> + Before they realized it they were quite close to the white wall, near the + ponderous closed gates. The small gate was open. A quiet, white boy was + looking at the sisters through the crevice with an inviting glance. The + sisters exchanged irresolute glances. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go in, Vetochka<a href="#linknote-10" name="linknoteref-10" + id="linknoteref-10"><small>10</small></a>?” asked Elena. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, let’s go in,” said Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + The sisters entered and found themselves in the garden. They found old + Elikonida at the entrance. She was sitting on the bench near the small + gate and was mumbling something slowly and indistinctly. Evidently no one + was there to listen to her. Perhaps the old woman was talking to herself. + </p> + <p> + Old Elikonida was first engaged to nurse Kirsha; now she carried out the + duties of a housekeeper. She had always been austere and never wasted a + word in speaking with people. The sisters tried to draw her into + conversation; they wanted to ask her things, about the ways of the house, + the habits of Trirodov—they were such inquisitive girls! Elena asked + many questions, although Elisaveta tried to restrain her; but they found + out nothing. The old woman looked past the sisters and mumbled in answer + to all questions: + </p> + <p> + “I know what I know. I have seen what I have seen.” + </p> + <p> + The quiet children approached them. They stood motionless and inanimate in + the shade of the old trees, and looked at the sisters with a fixed, + expressionless stare. The sisters felt uncomfortable and made haste to + depart. They could hear behind them the austere mumbling of Elikonida: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve seen what I’ve seen.” + </p> + <p> + And the quiet children laughed their quiet, quiet laughter, which was + truly like the sudden rustle of autumn leaves all aflutter in the air. + </p> + <p> + The sisters walked home silently. They found the right path and walked + without blundering. The evening darkness was coming on. They made haste. + The warm, damp earth clung to their feet and seemed to hinder their + movements. + </p> + <p> + They were not far from their own house when they suddenly came upon Ostrov + in the woods. He seemed to be on the look-out for something as he walked. + When he saw the sisters he turned aside and stood behind the trees; then + he strode forward quickly and faced them with an unexpected suddenness + that made Elena shudder and Elisaveta frown. Ostrov bowed to them with + derisive politeness and said: + </p> + <p> + “May I ask you something, fair ladies?” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta surveyed him calmly and said without haste: + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + Elena was silent with fear. + </p> + <p> + “Are you taking a walk?” asked Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Elisaveta briefly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Trirodov’s house is somewhere hereabouts, unless I’m mistaken,” said + Ostrov, half questioningly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you’ll find it by following the direction from which we came,” + replied Elena. + </p> + <p> + She wanted to conquer her fear. Ostrov winked at her insolently and said: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you most humbly. And who may you be?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it is not necessary that you should know,” replied Elisaveta with + a half-question. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov burst into laughter and said with unpleasant familiarity: + </p> + <p> + “It may not be necessary, but it would be interesting.” + </p> + <p> + The sisters walked on rapidly, but he did not desist. They thought him + repulsive. There was something alarming in his obtrusiveness. + </p> + <p> + “You evidently live hereabouts, fair ladies,” continued Ostrov; “I will + therefore venture to ask you what you know about Mr. Trirodov, who + interests me immensely.” + </p> + <p> + Elena laughed, perhaps somewhat dissemblingly, in order to hide her + agitation and fear. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we don’t live hereabouts,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov whistled. + </p> + <p> + “Very likely, isn’t it, that you’ve come all the way from Moscow with your + bare little feet,” he shouted angrily. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot tell you anything that can interest you,” said Elena coldly. + “You had better apply to him personally. It would be more proper.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov again burst into a sarcastic laugh and exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “I can’t deny that that would be proper, my handsome barefoot one. But + suppose he’s very busy, eh? How, then, would you advise me to get this + interesting information I want?” + </p> + <p> + The sisters were silent and walked on rapidly. Ostrov persisted: + </p> + <p> + “You are of his colony? Unless I’m mistaken you are instructresses there. + As far as one could judge from your light dresses and your contempt of + footwear, I think I’m not mistaken, eh? Tell me, it’s an amusing life + there, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Elisaveta, “we are not instructresses and we do not live + there.” + </p> + <p> + “What a pity!” said Ostrov incredulously. “I might have told you something + about Mr. Trirodov.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at the sisters attentively. They were silent. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got together all sorts of information here and elsewhere,” he went + on. “Curious things they tell about him, very curious indeed. And where + did he get his money? In general there are many suspicious circumstances + about his life.” + </p> + <p> + “Suspicious for whom?” asked Elena. “And what affair is it of ours?” + </p> + <p> + “What affair is it of yours, my charming maidens?” repeated Ostrov after + her. “I have a well-founded suspicion that you are acquainted with Mr. + Trirodov, and I therefore hope that you’ll tell me something about him.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better not hope,” said Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” observed Ostrov in a familiar tone. “He’s an old + acquaintance of mine. In years gone by we lived, drank, and roamed + together. And quite suddenly I lost sight of him, and now quite as + suddenly I’ve found him again. Naturally, I’m interested. As an old + friend, you see!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here,” said Elisaveta, “we do not wish to converse with you. + You had better go where you were going. We know nothing that would + interest you and we have nothing to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + “So that’s it!” said Ostrov, with an insolent smile. “And now, my beauty, + I’d better tell you that you’re expressing yourself a little carelessly. + Suppose I whistled suddenly, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” asked Elisaveta, astonished. + </p> + <p> + “What for-r? Well, some one may come out to my whistle.” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + After a short silence Ostrov resumed his threatening tone: + </p> + <p> + “You may be asked to give a few details about what Mr. Trirodov is doing + behind his walls.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Elisaveta in vexation. + </p> + <p> + “In any case, I’m only joking,” said Ostrov, suddenly changing his tone. + </p> + <p> + He was listening intently. Some one was coming towards them. The sisters + recognized Piotr and walked quickly to meet him. From their haste and + flustered manner Piotr understood that the man was distasteful to them. He + eyed him fixedly and recalled where he had met him, whereupon he frowned + and asked the sisters: + </p> + <p> + “Who is this?” + </p> + <p> + “A very inquisitive person who somehow has got an idea that we have many + interesting things to tell him about Trirodov,” said Elisaveta with a + smile. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov raised his hat and said: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had the honour to see you on the float.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of it?” asked Piotr sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Well—er, I have the honour to remind you,” said Ostrov with + exaggerated politeness. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here?” asked Piotr. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting these charming young ladies,” Ostrov + began to explain. + </p> + <p> + Piotr interrupted him sharply: + </p> + <p> + “And now you let the young ladies alone and go away from here.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t I have turned to these young ladies with a polite question + and an interesting tale?” asked Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + Piotr, without replying, turned to the sisters: + </p> + <p> + “You little girls are ready to enter into conversation with every + vagrant.” + </p> + <p> + An expression of bitterness crept into Ostrov’s face. Possibly this was + only a game, but it was certainly well played. It made Piotr feel + uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “A vagrant? And what is a vagrant?” asked Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + “What is a vagrant?” repeated Piotr in confusion. “What a question!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, you have permitted yourself to use the word, and I’m rather + interested to know in what sense you’ve used it in its application to me.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr, annoyed at being disconcerted by the stranger’s question, said + sharply: + </p> + <p> + “A vagrant is one who roams about without shelter and without money and + obtrudes upon others instead of attending to his own business.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for the definition,” said Ostrov with a bow. “It is true that I + have but little money and that I’m compelled to roam about—such is + the nature of my profession.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your profession?” asked Piotr. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov bowed with dignity and said: + </p> + <p> + “I’m an actor!” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it,” said Piotr once more sharply, “you look more like a + detective.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” said Ostrov in a flustered way. + </p> + <p> + Piotr turned away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go home at once,” he said to the sisters. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + It was growing dark. Ostrov was approaching Trirodov’s gates. His face + betrayed agitation. It was even more clear now than by daylight that life + had used him hardly. He felt painfully timid in going to Trirodov, in whom + he evidently had certain hopes. Before Ostrov could make up his mind to + ring the bell at the gates he walked the entire length of the stone wall + that surrounded Trirodov’s house and garden and examined it attentively, + without learning anything. Only the entire length of the tall wall was + before his eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was already quite dark when Ostrov stopped at last at the main gate. + The half-effaced figures and old heraldic emblems held his attention for a + moment only. He had already taken hold of the brass bell-handle and paused + cautiously, as if it were his habit to reconsider at the last moment; he + gave a sudden shiver. A clear, childish voice behind his back uttered + quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Not here.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov looked on both sides timidly, half stealthily, bending his head low + and letting it sink between his shoulders. Quite close by a pale, + blue-eyed boy dressed in white was standing and eyeing him with intent + scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + “They won’t hear you here. Every one has left,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Where is one to ring?” Ostrov asked harshly. + </p> + <p> + The boy pointed his finger to the left; it was a slow, graceful gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Ring at the small gate there.” + </p> + <p> + He ran off so quickly and quietly it seemed as if he had not been there. + Ostrov went in the direction indicated. He came to a high, narrow gate. A + white electric bell-button shone in a round wooden recess. Ostrov rang and + listened. He could hear somewhere the rapid shivering tones of a tiny + bell. Ostrov waited. The door did not open. Ostrov rang once more. It was + quiet behind the door. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder how long there’s to wait?” he grumbled, then gave a shout: “Hey, + you in there!” + </p> + <p> + A faint, muffled sound vibrated in the damp air, as if some one had + tittered lightly. Ostrov caught hold of the brass handle of the gate. The + gate opened towards him easily and without a sound. Ostrov looked round + cautiously as he entered, and purposely left the gate open. + </p> + <p> + He found himself in a small court on either side of which was a low wall. + The gate swung to behind him with a metallic click. Had he himself pulled + it to rather quickly? He could not recall now. He walked forward about ten + paces, when he came upon a wall twice as high as the side walls. It had a + massive oak door; an electric bell-button shone very white on one side. + Ostrov rang once more. The bell-button was very cold, almost icy, to the + touch. A sensation of chill passed down his whole body. + </p> + <p> + A round window, like a dim, motionless, observing eye, was visible high + above the door. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov could not say whether he waited there a long or a short time. He + experienced a strange feeling of having become congealed and of having + lost all sense of time. Whole days seemed to pass before him like a single + minute. Rays of bright light fell on his face and disappeared. Ostrov + thought that some one flashed this light on his face by means of a lantern + from the window over the door—a light so intense that his eyes felt + uncomfortable. He turned his face aside in vexation. He did not wish to be + recognized before he entered. That was why he came in the dark of the + evening. + </p> + <p> + But evidently he had been recognized. This door swung open as soundlessly + as the first. He entered a short, dark corridor in the thick wall; then + another court. No one was there. The door closed noiselessly behind him. + </p> + <p> + “How many courts are there in this devilish hole?” growled Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + A narrow path paved with stone stretched before him. It was lit up by a + lamp from a distance, the reflection of which was directed straight + towards Ostrov, so that he could see only the smooth grey slabs of stone + under his feet. It was altogether dark on either side of the path, and it + was impossible to know whether a wall was there or trees. There was + nothing for him to do but to walk straight on. Nevertheless he + occasionally thrust his foot out to either side of him and felt there; he + was convinced that thickly planted, prickly bushes grew there. He thought + there was another hedge beyond that. + </p> + <p> + “Tricks!” he grumbled. + </p> + <p> + As he slowly moved forward he experienced a vague and growing fear. So as + not to be caught off his guard, he put his left hand into the pocket of + his dusty and greasy trousers and felt there the hard body of a revolver, + which he then transferred to his right-hand pocket. + </p> + <p> + On the threshold of the house he was met by Trirodov. Trirodov’s face + expressed nothing except an apparent effort to suppress his feelings. + There was no warmth or welcome in his voice: + </p> + <p> + “I did not expect to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve come, all the same,” said Ostrov. “Whether you like it or not, + you’ve got to receive your dear guest.” + </p> + <p> + There was contemptuous defiance in his voice. His eyes looked more + insolent than ever. Trirodov frowned lightly and looked straight into + Ostrov’s eyes, which were compelled to turn aside. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said Trirodov. “Why didn’t you write and tell me that you + wished to see me?” + </p> + <p> + “How should I know that you were here?” growled Ostrov surlily. + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, you found out,” said Trirodov, with a vexed smile. + </p> + <p> + “Found out quite by accident on the float,” replied Ostrov. “Heard you + mentioned in conversation. I don’t think you’ll care to know what they + said.” + </p> + <p> + He gave an insinuating smile. Trirodov merely said: “Come in. Follow me.” + </p> + <p> + They ascended a narrow, very steep staircase with low, wide stairs; there + were frequent turnings in various directions round all sorts of odd + corners, interrupted by long landings between the climbs; each landing + revealed a tightly shut door. The light was clear and unwavering. A cold + gaiety and malice, a half-hidden, motionless irony, were in the gleam of + the incandescent wires bent inside the glass pears. + </p> + <p> + Some one walked behind with a light, cautious step. There were the + clicking sounds of lights being extinguished; the passages they had just + passed through were plunged in darkness. + </p> + <p> + At last they reached the top of the stairway. They walked through a long + corridor and found themselves in a large gloomy room. There was a + sideboard against one of the walls and a table in the middle; cut-glass + dishes rested along shelves around the room. It was to all appearances a + dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “It’s quite the proper thing to do,” grumbled Ostrov. “A meal would do me + no harm.” + </p> + <p> + The light was strangely distributed. Half of the room and half of the + table were in the shadow. Two boys dressed in white waited at the table. + Ostrov winked at them insolently. + </p> + <p> + But they looked on calmly and departed quite simply. Trirodov settled + himself in the dark part of the room. Ostrov sat down at the table. + Trirodov began: + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you want of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Now that’s a businesslike question,” answered Ostrov, with a hoarse + laugh, “very much a business question, not so much a gracious as a + businesslike question. What do I want? In the first place, I am delighted + to see you. There is a certain bond between us—our childhood and all + the rest of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m very glad,” said Trirodov dryly. + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it,” responded Ostrov impudently. “Then again, my dear chap, I’ve + come for something else. In fact, you’ve guessed what I’ve come for. + You’ve been a psychologist ever since I can remember.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it you want?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you guess?” said Ostrov, winking his eye. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Trirodov dryly. + </p> + <p> + “In that case there’s nothing left for me to do but to tell you straight: + I need money.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed hoarsely, unnaturally; then, pouring out a glass of wine, + mumbled as he gulped it down: + </p> + <p> + “Good wine.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one needs money,” answered Trirodov coldly. “Where do you intend to + get it?” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov turned in his chair. He chuckled nervously and said: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve come to you, as you see. You evidently have lots of money, and I + have little. Comment is needless, as the newspapers would say.” + </p> + <p> + “So that’s it! And suppose I refuse?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov whistled sharply and looked insolently at Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Well, old chap,” he said rudely, “I don’t count on your permitting + yourself such a stupid mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” repeated Ostrov after him. “I think the facts must be as clear + to you as to me, if not more so—and there’s nothing to be gained by + the world getting wind of them.” + </p> + <p> + “I owe you nothing,” said Trirodov quietly. “I don’t understand why I + should give you money. You’d only spend it recklessly—squander it + most likely.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you spend it any more sensibly?” asked Ostrov with a malicious + smile. + </p> + <p> + “If not more sensibly, at least with more reckoning,” retorted Trirodov. + “In any case, I’m prepared to help you. Only I may as well tell you that I + have little spare cash and that even if I had it I’d not give you much.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov gave a short, abrupt laugh and said with decision: + </p> + <p> + “A little is of no use to me. I need a lot of money. But perhaps you’ll + not think it much.” + </p> + <p> + “How much do you want?” asked Trirodov abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty thousand roubles,” replied Ostrov, making a determined effort to + brazen it out. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not give you so much,” said Trirodov, “and I couldn’t even if I + wished to.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov drew nearer to Trirodov and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll inform against you.” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” asked Trirodov, untouched by the threat. + </p> + <p> + “It will be bad for you. It’s a capital crime, as you know, my dear chap, + and of a no mean order,” said Ostrov in a menacing tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yours, my good fellow,” said Trirodov in his usual calm voice. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll manage to wriggle out of it somehow, but will see that you get your + due,” said Ostrov with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You’re making a sad mistake if you think that I have anything to fear,” + observed Trirodov, with a shrug of his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov seemed to grow more insolent every minute. He whistled and said + banteringly: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me now, if you please! Didn’t you kill him?” + </p> + <p> + “I? No, I didn’t kill him,” answered Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Who then?” asked Ostrov in his derisive voice. + </p> + <p> + “He’s alive,” said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + And he burst out into a loud, insolent, hoarse laugh, though he seemed + panic-stricken at the same time. He asked: + </p> + <p> + “What of those little prisms which you’ve manufactured? I’ve heard that + even now they are lying on the table in your study.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true,” said Trirodov dryly. + </p> + <p> + “And I’m told that your present is not absolutely clean either,” observed + Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” asked Trirodov derisively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes-s,” continued Ostrov jeeringly. “The first business in your colony is + conspiracy, the second corruption, the third cruelty.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov gave a stern frown and asked scornfully: + </p> + <p> + “You’ve had enough time to gather a bouquet of slanders.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes-s, I’ve managed, as you see. Whether they are slanders is quite + another matter. I can only say that they fit you somehow. Take, for + instance, those perverse habits of yours; need I recall them to you? I + could remind you, if I wished, of certain facts from your early life.” + </p> + <p> + “You know you are talking nonsense,” said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “It is reported,” went on Ostrov, “that all this is being repeated in the + quiet of your asylum.” + </p> + <p> + “Even if it were all true,” said Trirodov, “I do not see that you have + anything to gain by it.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov’s eyes had a tranquil look. He seemed remote. His voice had a + calm, hollow sound. Ostrov exclaimed vehemently: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t imagine for a moment that I have fallen into a trap. If I don’t + leave this place, I have prepared something that will send you to gaol.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” said Trirodov as quietly as before. “I’m not afraid. In the + last resort I can emigrate.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you’ll put on the mantle of a political exile,” laughed Ostrov. + “It’s useless! Our police, they’ll keep a sharp look-out for you, clever + fellows that they are. Never fear, they’ll get you. They’ll get you + anywhere. You may be sure of that.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll not give me up where I’m going,” said Trirodov. “It’s a safe + place, and you’ll not be able to reach me there.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of place have you prepared for yourself?” asked Ostrov, smiling + malignantly. “Or is it a secret?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the moon,” was Trirodov’s simple and tranquil answer. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov laughed boisterously. Trirodov added: + </p> + <p> + “Moreover, the moon has been created by me. She is before my window, ready + to take me.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov jumped up in great rage from his place, stamped violently with his + feet, and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “You are laughing at me! It is useless. You can’t fool me with those + stupid fairy-tales of yours. Tell those sweet little stories to the silly + little girls of the provinces. I’m an old sparrow. You can’t feed me on + chaff.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov remained unruffled. + </p> + <p> + “You’re fuming all for nothing. I’ll help you with money on a condition.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of condition?” asked Ostrov with restrained anger. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have to go from here—very far—for always,” answered + Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have to think that over,” said Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + “I give you a week. Come to me exactly within a week, and you’ll receive + the money.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov suddenly felt an incomprehensible fear. He experienced the feeling + of having passed into another’s power. He felt oppressed. A stern smile + marked Trirodov’s face. He said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “You are of such little value that I could kill you without scruple—like + a snake. But I am tired even of other people’s murders.” + </p> + <p> + “My value?” Ostrov muttered hoarsely and absurdly. + </p> + <p> + “What is your value?” went on Trirodov. “You are a hired murderer, a spy, + a traitor.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov said in a meek voice: + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, I’ve not betrayed you so far.” + </p> + <p> + “Because it wouldn’t pay, that’s why you’ve not betrayed me. Again, you + dare not.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want me to do?” asked Ostrov humbly. “What is your condition? + Where do you want me to go?” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + Trirodov left a pleasant impression on Rameyev. Rameyev made haste to + return his visit: he went together with Piotr. Piotr did not wish to go to + Trirodov’s, but could not make up his mind to refuse. He kept frowning on + the way, but once in Trirodov’s house he tried to be courteous. This he + did constrainedly. + </p> + <p> + Misha soon made friends with Kirsha and with some of the boys. An intimacy + sprang up between the Rameyevs and Trirodov—that is, to the extent + that Trirodov’s unsociableness and love of a solitary life permitted him + to become intimate. + </p> + <p> + It once happened that Trirodov took Kirsha with him to the Rameyevs and + remained to dinner. Several other close acquaintances of the Rameyevs came + to dinner. The older of the visitors were the Cadets, the younger were the + Es-Deks<a href="#linknote-11" name="linknoteref-11" id="linknoteref-11"><small>11</small></a> + and the Es-Ers.<a href="#linknote-12" name="linknoteref-12" + id="linknoteref-12"><small>12</small></a> + </p> + <p> + At the beginning there was a long agitated discussion in connexion with + the news brought by one of the younger guests, a public school instructor + named Voronok, an Es-Er. The Chief of Police had been killed that day near + his house. The culprits managed to escape. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov took almost no part in the conversation. Elisaveta looked at him + with anxious eyes, and the yellow of her dress appeared like the colour of + sadness. It had been remarked by all that Trirodov was thoughtful and + gloomy; he seemed to be tormented by some secret agitation, which he made + obvious efforts to control. At last the attention of all was turned upon + him. This happened after he had answered one of the girls’ questions. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov noticed that they were looking at him. He felt uneasy and vexed + with himself. This vexation, however, helped him to control his agitation. + He became more animated, threw off, as it were, some weight, and began to + talk. The glance of Elisaveta’s deep blue eyes grew joyous at this. + </p> + <p> + Piotr put in a remark just then, in his usual parochial, self-confident + manner: + </p> + <p> + “If it were not for the wild changes in Peter’s time, everything would + have gone differently.” + </p> + <p> + There was a tinge of derision in Trirodov’s smile. + </p> + <p> + “A mistake, wasn’t it?” he observed. “But if you are going to look for + mistakes in Russian history, why not start earlier?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean at the beginning of creation?” said Piotr. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely then. But without going so far back, let us pause at the + Mongolian period,” replied Trirodov. “The historical error was that Russia + did not amalgamate with the Tartars.” + </p> + <p> + “As if there were not enough Tartars in Russia now!” said Piotr, provoked. + </p> + <p> + “That’s precisely why there are many—because they didn’t + amalgamate,” observed Trirodov. “They should have had the sense to + establish a Russo-Mongolian empire.” + </p> + <p> + “And become Mohammedans?” asked Dr. Svetilovitch, a very agreeable person + but very confident of all that was obvious. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all!” answered Trirodov. “Wasn’t Boris Godunov a Christian? That’s + not the point at issue. All the same, we and the Catholics of Western + Europe have regarded each other as heretics; and our empire might have + become a universal one. Even if they had counted us among the yellow race, + it should be remembered that the yellow race might have been considered + under the circumstances quite noble and the yellow skin a very elegant + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “You are developing a strange Mongolian paradox,” said Piotr + contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “Even now,” retorted Trirodov, “we are looked upon by the rest of Europe + as almost Mongols, as a race mixed with Mongolian elements. You know the + saying: ‘Scratch a Russian and you will find a Tartar.’” + </p> + <p> + A discussion arose which continued until they left the table. + </p> + <p> + Piotr Matov was very much out of sorts during the entire dinner. He found + almost nothing to say to his neighbour, a young girl, a dark-eyed, + dark-haired beauty, an Es-Dek. And the handsome Es-Dek began to turn more + and more towards the diner on the other side of her, the priest Zakrasin. + He belonged to the Cadets, but was nearer to her in his convictions than + the Octobrist<a href="#linknote-13" name="linknoteref-13" + id="linknoteref-13"><small>13</small></a> Matov. + </p> + <p> + Piotr was displeased because Elisaveta paid no attention to him and + appeared to be absorbed in Trirodov and in what he was saying; and it + vexed him because Elena also now and then let her softened gaze rest upon + Trirodov. He felt he wanted to say provoking things to Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Yet he is a guest,” reflected Piotr to himself, but at last he could hold + out no longer; he felt that he must in one way or another shake Trirodov’s + self-assurance. Piotr walked up to him and, swaying before him on his long + thin legs, remarked, without almost the slightest effort to conceal his + animosity: + </p> + <p> + “Some days ago on the pier a stranger made inquiries about you. Kerbakh + and Zherbenev were talking nonsense, and he sat down near them and seemed + very interested in you.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather flattering,” said Trirodov unwillingly. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say to what an extent it is flattering,” said Piotr maliciously. + “In my opinion there was little to recommend him. His appearance was + rather suspicious—that of a ragamuffin, in fact. Though he insists + he’s an actor, I have my doubts. He says you are old friends. A most + insolent fellow.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov smiled. Elisaveta remarked with some agitation: + </p> + <p> + “We met him some days ago not far from your house.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s quite a lonely place,” observed Trirodov in an uncertain voice. + </p> + <p> + Piotr went on to describe him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s the actor Ostrov,” assented Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta, feeling a strange unrest, put in: + </p> + <p> + “He seemed to have gone around the neighbourhood looking about and asking + questions. I wonder what he can be up to.” + </p> + <p> + “Evidently a spy,” said the young Es-Dek contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov, without expressing the slightest astonishment, remarked: + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so? It’s possible. I really don’t know. I haven’t seen him + for five years now.” + </p> + <p> + The young Es-Dek, thinking that Trirodov felt offended at her reference to + his acquaintance, added affectedly: + </p> + <p> + “You know him well; then please pardon me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know his present condition,” put in Trirodov. “Everything is + possible.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s impossible to be responsible for all chance acquaintances!” + interpolated Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov turned to Piotr: + </p> + <p> + “And what did he say about me?” + </p> + <p> + But his voice did not express any especial curiosity. Piotr replied with a + sarcastic smile: + </p> + <p> + “He said very little, but asked a great deal. He said that you knew him + very well. In any case, I soon left.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have known him a long time,” was Trirodov’s calm answer. “Perhaps + not too well, yet I know him. I had some dealings with him.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he paid you a visit yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Trirodov in reply to Elisaveta’s question, “he came to see me + last evening, quite late. I don’t know why he chose such a late hour. He + asked assistance. His demands were large. I will give him what I can. He’s + going away from here.” + </p> + <p> + All this was said in jerks, unwillingly. No one seemed to care to continue + the subject further, but at this moment, quite unexpectedly to all, Kirsha + entered into the conversation. He went up to his father and said in a + quiet but audible voice: + </p> + <p> + “He purposely came late, while I slept, so that I shouldn’t see him. But I + remember him. When I was very little he used to show me dreadful tricks. I + don’t remember them now. I can only remember that I used to get frightened + and that I cried.” + </p> + <p> + All looked in astonishment at Kirsha, exchanged glances and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You must have seen it in a dream, Kirsha,” said Trirodov—quietly. + Then, turning to the older people: “Boys of his age love fantastic tales. + Even we love Utopia and read Wells. The very life which we are now + creating is a joining, as it were, of real existence with fantastic and + Utopian elements. Take, for example, this affair of....” + </p> + <p> + In this manner Trirodov interrupted the conversation about Ostrov and + changed it to another subject that was agitating all circles at the time. + He left very soon after that. The others also stayed but a short time. + </p> + <p> + There was an atmosphere of irritation and hostility after the guests had + gone. Rameyev reproached Piotr. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Petya, you shouldn’t have done that. It isn’t hospitable. You + were looking all the time at Trirodov as if you were getting ready to send + him to all the devils.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr replied with a controlled gruffness: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, precisely, to all the devils. You have guessed my feelings, uncle.” + </p> + <p> + Rameyev eyed him incredulously and said: + </p> + <p> + “Why, my dear fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” repeated Piotr, giving free rein to his irritation. “What is he? A + charlatan? A visionary? A magician? Is he in partnership with some unclean + power? What do you think of it? Or is it the devil himself come in a human + shape—a little grey, cloven-hoofed demon?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s enough, Petya; what are you saying?” said Rameyev with annoyance. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta smiled an incredulous smile, full of gentle irony; a golden, + saddened smile, set off by the melancholy yellow rose in her black hair. + And Elena’s astonished eyes dilated widely. + </p> + <p> + “Think it over yourself, uncle,” went on Piotr, “and look around you. He + has bewitched our little girls completely!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if he has,” said Elena with a gay smile, “it’s only just a little + as far as I am concerned.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta flushed but said with composure: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he’s interesting to listen to; and it’s no use stuffing one’s ears.” + </p> + <p> + “There, she admits it!” exclaimed Piotr angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Admits what?” asked Elisaveta in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “That for the sake of this cold, vain egoist you are ready to forget every + one.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve not noticed either his vanity or his egoism,” said Elisaveta coldly. + “I wonder how you’ve managed to know him so well—or so ill.” + </p> + <p> + “All this is pitiful and absurd nonsense, only an excuse for starting a + quarrel,” said Piotr angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Petya, you envy him,” retorted Elisaveta with unaccustomed sharpness. + Then, feeling that she had overstepped the mark, she added: + </p> + <p> + “Do forgive me, Petya, but really you are exasperating sometimes with your + personal attacks.” + </p> + <p> + “Envy him? Why should I?” he said hotly. “Tell me, what useful thing has + he done? To be sure, he has published a few tales, a volume of verses—but + name me even a single work of his prose or verse that contains the + slightest sense or beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “His verses....” began Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + But Piotr would not let her continue. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, where is his talent? What is he famous for? All that he writes + only seems like poetry. If you look at it closely you will see that it is + bookish, forced, dry—it is diabolically suggestive without being + talented.” + </p> + <p> + Rameyev interrupted in a conciliatory tone: + </p> + <p> + “You’re unjust. You can’t deny him everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us admit, then, that there’s something in his work not altogether + bad,” continued Piotr. “Who is there nowadays who cannot put together some + nice-sounding versicles! Yet what is there really I should respect in him? + He’s nothing but a corrupt, bald-headed, ridiculous, and dull-sighted + person—yet Elisaveta considers him a handsome man!” + </p> + <p> + “I never said anything about his being handsome,” protested Elisaveta. “As + for his corruption, isn’t it purely town tattle?” + </p> + <p> + She frowned and grew red. Her blue eyes flared up with small greenish + flames. Piotr walked angrily out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Why is he so annoyed?” asked Rameyev in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta lowered her head and said with childish bashfulness: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + She could not repress an ashamed smile at her timid words, because she + felt like a little girl who was concealing something. At last she overcame + her shame and said: + </p> + <p> + “He’s jealous!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Trirodov loved to be alone. Solitude and silence were a holiday to him. + How significant seemed his lonely experiences to him, how delicious his + devotion to his visions. Some one came to him, something appeared before + him, wonderful apparitions visited him, now in dream, now in his waking + hours, and they consumed his sadness. + </p> + <p> + Sadness was Trirodov’s habitual state. Only while writing his poems and + his prose did he find self-oblivion—an astonishing state, in which + time is shrivelled up and consumed, in which great inspiration consoles + her chosen ones with divine exultation for all burdens, for all annoyances + in life. + </p> + <p> + He wrote much, published little. His fame was very limited—there + were few who read his verses and prose, and even among these but a few who + acknowledged his talent. His stories and lyrical poems were not + distinguished by any especial obscurity or any especial decadent + mannerisms. They bore the imprint of something strange and exquisite. It + needed an especial kind of soul to appreciate this poetry which seemed so + simple at the first glance, yet actually so out of the ordinary. + </p> + <p> + To others, from among those who knew him, the public’s ignorance of him + appeared inexplicable. His capabilities seemed sufficiently great to + awaken the attention and admiration of the crowd. But he, to some extent, + detested people—perhaps because he was too confident of his own + genius—and he never made a definite effort to gratify them. And that + was why his works were only rarely published. + </p> + <p> + In general, Trirodov did not encourage intimacies with people. He found it + painful to look with involuntary penetration into the confusion of their + dark, foggy souls. + </p> + <p> + He found himself at ease only in the company of his wife. Love makes kin + of souls. But his wife had died a few years ago, when Kirsha was six years + old. Kirsha remembered her; he could not forget her, and kept on recalling + her. Trirodov for some reason associated his wife’s death with the birth + of his son, though there was no obvious connexion: his wife died from a + casual, sharp illness. Trirodov thought: + </p> + <p> + “She bore, and therefore had to die. Life is only for the innocent.” + </p> + <p> + After her death he always awaited her; there was for him the consoling + thought: + </p> + <p> + “She will come. She will not deceive me. She will give a sign. She will + take me with her.” + </p> + <p> + And life became as easy to bear as a vacillant vision seen in dream. + </p> + <p> + He loved to look at his wife’s portrait. It was painted by a celebrated + English artist and hung in his study. There were also many photographic + reproductions of her. It was his joy to muse of her and, musing, to + delight in images of her handsome face and her lovely body. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes his solitude was broken by the intrusion of external life and + external, unemotional love. A woman used to come in to him sometimes—a + strange, undemanding woman who seemed to come from nowhere and to lead to + nowhere. Trirodov had had relations with her for several months. She was + an instructress in the local girls’ school, Ekaterina Nikolayevna Alkina—a + quiet, tranquil, cold creature with dark red hair and a thin face, the + dull pallor of which emphasized the impressively vivid lips of her large + mouth; it seemed as if all the sensuality and colour of the face had + poured themselves into the lips and made them startlingly and painfully + vivid and suggestive of sin. She had married and had parted from her + husband. She had a son, who lived with her. She was an S.D.<a + href="#linknote-14" name="linknoteref-14" id="linknoteref-14"><small>14</small></a> + and worked in the organization, but all this was merely incidental in her + life. She met Trirodov in party work. Her comrades understood as by some + intuition that in order to carry on negotiations with Trirodov, who did + not permit himself any intimacy with them, it was necessary to choose this + woman. + </p> + <p> + And now Alkina had come again, and began as always: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve come on business.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov regarded her with a deep, tranquil glance and answered her with + the usual commonplaces of welcome. + </p> + <p> + Slightly agitated by hidden desires, Alkina spoke of the “business” in + hand. + </p> + <p> + It had already been decided that the party orator who was to come to speak + at the projected mass meeting would be quartered at Trirodov’s: this was + thought to be the least dangerous place. Alkina came to say that the + orator was expected that evening. It was necessary to bring him to + Trirodov’s house in such a way that the town should not know anything + about it. As soon as they had decided at what entrance he should be + received Trirodov went out of the room to make the necessary arrangements. + The agreeable consciousness of creative mystery filled him with joy. + </p> + <p> + When Trirodov returned Alkina was standing at the table and turning over + the pages of a new book. Her hands trembled slightly. She glanced + expectantly at Trirodov. She appeared to wish to say something meaningful + and tender—but instead she resumed her remarks on business. She told + him what was new in town, in her school, in the organization—about + the confiscation of the local newspaper, about personalities ordered to + leave town by the police, about the factory ferment. + </p> + <p> + “Who will be our own speakers at the mass meeting?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Bodeyev, from the school, for one.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not like his manner of speaking,”, said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a good party workman,” observed Alkina with a timid smile. “He’s to + be valued for that.” + </p> + <p> + “You know, of course, that I am not much of a party man,” said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + Alkina was silent. She trembled lightly as she rose from her seat, then + suddenly ceased to be agitated. Only her vivid lips, speaking slowly, + seemed to be alive in her pale face. + </p> + <p> + “Giorgiy Sergeyevitch, will you love me a little?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov smiled. He sat quietly in his chair and looked at her simply and + dispassionately. He did not answer at once. Alkina asked again with her + sad and gentle humility: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you haven’t the time, nor the desire?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Katya, I shall be glad,” answered Trirodov calmly. “You’ll find it + convenient in there,” and he signified with his eyes the little + neighbouring room which had no other exit. + </p> + <p> + Alkina flushed lightly and said: + </p> + <p> + “If you will permit me, I’d rather undress here. It would give me joy to + have you look at me a long time.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov helped her to undo the clasps of her skirt. Alkina sat down on a + chair, bent over, and began to undo the buttons of her boots. Then, with + evident enjoyment at having freed her feet, she walked slowly across the + floor towards the door and turned the key in the lock. + </p> + <p> + “As you know, I have but one joy,” she said. + </p> + <p> + She gracefully threw off her clothes and stood before Trirodov with + uplifted arms. She was sinuously slender, like a white serpent. Crossing + the fingers of her upraised hands, she bent her whole body forward, so + that she appeared more sinuously slender than ever, and the curve of her + body almost resembled a white ring. Then she relaxed her arms, stood up + erect, all tranquil and self-possessed, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I want you to take a good look at me. I haven’t grown old yet, have I? + And not altogether faded?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov surveyed her with admiration and said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Katya, you are as handsome as always.” + </p> + <p> + Alkina was mistrustful. + </p> + <p> + “It’s true, isn’t it, that clothes have too long cramped my body and + injured the skin. How can my body be handsome?” + </p> + <p> + “You are graceful and flexible,” answered Trirodov. “The lines of your + body are somewhat elongated but wholly elastic. If any one were to measure + your body he would find no error in its proportions.” + </p> + <p> + Alkina scrutinized herself attentively and went on incredulously: + </p> + <p> + “The lines are good—but the colour? I believe you once said that + Russians often have unpleasant complexions. When I look on the whiteness + of my body I am reminded of plaster of paris, and I begin to weep because + I am so ugly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Katya,” asserted Trirodov. “The whiteness of your body is not like + plaster of paris. It is marble, slightly rose-tinged. It is milk poured + into a pink crystal vase. It is mountain snow lit up with the last glow of + sunset. It is a white reverie suffused with rose desire.” + </p> + <p> + Alkina smiled joyously and flushed lightly as she asked him: + </p> + <p> + “Will you take a few snapshots of me to-day? Otherwise I shall weep, + because I am so ugly and so meagre that you do not wish to recall + sometimes my face and my body.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Trirodov, “I have a few films ready.” + </p> + <p> + Alkina laughed gleefully and said: + </p> + <p> + “Now kiss me.” + </p> + <p> + She bent over Trirodov and almost fell into his arms. The kisses seemed + tranquil and innocent; it might have been a sister kissing a brother. How + gentle and elastic her skin was under his hands! Alkina pressed against + him with a submissive, yielding movement. Trirodov carried her to the + wide, soft couch. She lay in his arms timidly and quietly and looked + straight into his eyes with a simple, innocent look. + </p> + <p> + When the sweet and deep minutes passed, followed by fatigue and shame, + Alkina lay there motionlessly with half-closed eyes—and then said + suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been wanting to ask you, and somehow couldn’t decide to. Do you + detest me? Perhaps you think me very shameless?” + </p> + <p> + She turned her face towards him and looked at him with frightened, ashamed + eyes. And he answered her with his usual resolution: + </p> + <p> + “No, Katya. Shame is often needed, in order that we may gain control over + it.” + </p> + <p> + Alkina once more lay back calmly, basking naked under his glances, as + under the rays of the high Dragon. Trirodov was silent. Alkina laughed + quietly and said: + </p> + <p> + “My husband used to be so respectable, mean and polite. He never beat me—he + was not a cultured man for nothing—and he never even used coarse + words. If he had but called me a fool! I sometimes think that I wouldn’t + have left him if our quarrels hadn’t passed so quietly, if he had but beat + me, pulled me by my hair, lashed me with something.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Life is so dull,” continued Alkina. “One struggles in the nets of petty + annoyances. If one could but cry out, but give wail to one’s yearning, + one’s woe, one’s unendurable pain!” + </p> + <p> + She said this with a passion unusual to her and grew silent. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + It was drawing towards evening, and once more Trirodov was alone, + tormented by his unceasing sadness. His mind was in a whirl. He was in a + half-somnolent state, which was like the foreboding of a nightmare. His + half-dreams and half-illusions were full of the day’s impressions, full of + burning, cruel reveries. + </p> + <p> + It had just grown dark. A fire was visible on a height near the town. The + town boys were making merry. They had lit a bonfire, and were throwing the + brands into the air; as they rose swiftly, the burning brands appeared + like skyrockets against the blue sky. And these beautiful flights of fire + in the darkness gave joy and sadness. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha, silent as always, came to his father. He placed himself at the + window and looked out with his dark, sad eyes upon the distant fires of + St. John’s Eve. Trirodov went up to him. Kirsha turned quietly towards his + father: + </p> + <p> + “This will be a terrible night.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov answered as quietly: + </p> + <p> + “There will be nothing terrible. Don’t be afraid, Kirsha. You had better + go to sleep, my boy, it is time.” + </p> + <p> + As if he had not heard his father, Kirsha went on: + </p> + <p> + “The dead will soon rise from their graves.” + </p> + <p> + “The dead are already rising from their graves,” replied Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + A strange feeling of astonishment stirred within him, why did he speak of + this? Or was it due to the urgency of the questioner’s desire? Quietly, + ever so quietly, half questioning, half relating, Kirsha persisted: + </p> + <p> + “The dead will walk on the Navii<a href="#linknote-15" + name="linknoteref-15" id="linknoteref-15"><small>15</small></a> footpath, + the dead will speak Navii words.” + </p> + <p> + And again, as though submitting to a strange will, not his own, Trirodov + replied: + </p> + <p> + “The dead have already risen, they are already walking upon the Navii + footpath, towards the Navii town, they are already speaking Navii words + about Navii affairs.” + </p> + <p> + And Kirsha asked: + </p> + <p> + “Are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going,” said Trirodov after a brief silence. + </p> + <p> + “I am going with you,” said Kirsha resolutely. + </p> + <p> + “You had better not go, dear Kirsha,” said his father tenderly. + </p> + <p> + But Kirsha persistently repeated: + </p> + <p> + “I will spend this night with you there, at the Navii footpath. I will see + and I will hear. I will look into dead eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov said sternly: + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish to take you with me—you ought to remain here.” + </p> + <p> + There was entreaty in Kirsha’s voice: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps mother will come by.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov, falling into deep thought, said finally: + </p> + <p> + “Very well, come with me.” + </p> + <p> + The evening dragged on slowly and sadly. The father and son waited. It + grew quite dark by the time they went. + </p> + <p> + They walked through the garden, past the closed greenhouse with its + mysteriously glittering window-panes. The quiet children were not yet + asleep. Quietly they swung in the garden upon their swings. Quietly + clinked the swing rings, quietly creaked the wooden seats. Upon the swings + sat the quiet children, lit up by the dead moon and cooled by the night + breeze, and they swung softly and sang their songs. The night listened to + their quiet songs, and the full, clear, dead moon also. Kirsha, lowering + his voice so that the quiet children might not hear, asked: + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t they sleep? They swing on their swings neither upward nor + downward, but evenly. Why do they do this?” + </p> + <p> + “They must not sleep to-night,” answered Trirodov, also in a whisper. + “They cannot sleep until the dawn grows rosy, until the dawn begins to + laugh. There is really no reason why they should sleep. They can sleep as + well by day.” + </p> + <p> + Again Kirsha asked: + </p> + <p> + “Will they go with us? They want to go.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Kirsha, they don’t want anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t want anything?” repeated Kirsha sadly. + </p> + <p> + “They ought not to go with us unless we call them.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we call them?” asked Kirsha joyously. + </p> + <p> + “We shall call one. Which one would you like?” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha, after some thought, said: + </p> + <p> + “Grisha.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, we’ll call Grisha,” said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + He turned in the direction of the swings, and called out: + </p> + <p> + “Grisha!” + </p> + <p> + A boy, who resembled the sad-faced Nadezhda, quietly jumped down from his + swing, and walked behind them, without approaching too closely. The other + quiet children looked tranquilly after him, and continued to swing and to + sing as before. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov opened the gate, and was followed by Kirsha and Grisha. The night + hovered all around them, and the forgotten Navii footpath stretched in a + black strip through the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha shivered—he felt the cold, heavy earth under his bare feet; + the cold air pressed against his bare knees, the cold moist freshness of + the night blew against his half-bared breast. He heard his father ask in a + low voice: + </p> + <p> + “Kirsha, are you not afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” whispered Kirsha, as he breathed in the fresh aroma of the dew and + the light mist. + </p> + <p> + The light of the moon was seductive with mystery. She smiled with her + lifeless, tranquil face, and appeared to be saying: + </p> + <p> + “What was will be again. What was will happen more than once.” + </p> + <p> + The night was peaceful and clear. They walked a long time—Trirodov + and Kirsha, and some distance behind them the quiet Grisha followed. At + last there appeared, quite near, peering through the mist, the low white + cemetery wall. Another road cut across theirs. Quite narrow, its worn + cobblestones gleamed dimly in the moonlight. The road of the living and + the road of the dead crossed each other at the entrance of the cemetery. + In the field near the crossing several mounds were visible—they were + the unmarked graves of suicides and convicts. + </p> + <p> + The whole neighbourhood, bewitched with mystery and fear, seemed + oppressed. The flat field stretched far—all enveloped in a light + mist. Far to the left, the town fires showed their vague glimmers through + the mist—and marked off by the wall of mist, the town seemed to be + very distant, and to be guarding jealously from the fields of night the + tumultuous voices of life. + </p> + <p> + An old witch, grey, and all bent, appeared from somewhere; she swung a + crutch and stumbled on in haste. She was mumbling angrily: + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t smell of our spirit. Strangers have come! Why have they come? + What can strangers want here? What are they seeking? They’ll find what + they don’t want to find. Ours will see them, and will tear them to pieces, + and will scatter the pieces before all the winds.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a weird rustle, there rose all about them the squeak of + piping little voices, and the sounds of a confused scampering. At the + crosspaths there darted in all directions, as thick as dust, countless + hordes of grey sprites and evil spirits. Their running was so impetuous + that they could have borne along with them every living, weak-willed soul. + And it could already be seen that running in their midst were the pitiful + souls of little people. Kirsha whispered in a voice full of fear: + </p> + <p> + “Quicker, quicker into the ring! They will bear us away if we don’t mark + ourselves in.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov called quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Come here, come here, quiet boy, draw a circle around us with your + nocturnal little stick.” + </p> + <p> + They no sooner had succeeded in marking themselves in with the magic line + than the dead began to pass down the Navii path. The throng of the dead, + submitting to some evil malediction, walked towards the town. The spectres + walked in the nocturnal silence and the traces they left behind them were + light, curious, and hardly distinguishable. Whispered conversations were + heard—lifeless words. The dead walked at random, without any defined + order. At the beginning the voices merged into a general drone, and only + afterwards, by straining one’s ears, it was possible to distinguish + separate words and whole phrases. + </p> + <p> + “Be good yourself, that’s the chief thing.” + </p> + <p> + “For mercy’s sake—what perversion, what immorality!” + </p> + <p> + “Plenty of food and plenty of clothes—what more can one want?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t sinned much.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what they deserve. Kisses are not for them.” + </p> + <p> + In the beginning all the dead fused into one dark, grey mass. But + gradually, if one looked intently one could distinguish the separate + corpses. + </p> + <p> + One nobleman who passed by had a cap with a red band on his head; he was + saying with calm and deliberation: + </p> + <p> + “The divine right of ownership should be inviolable. We and our ancestors + have built up the Russian land.” + </p> + <p> + Another of the same class, who walked beside him, remarked: + </p> + <p> + “My motto—autocracy, orthodoxy, and nationality. My credo—a + strong redeeming power.” + </p> + <p> + A priest in a black vestment swung a censer, and cried in a tenor voice: + </p> + <p> + “Every soul should submit to sovereign dominion. The hand that gives will + not grow poorer.” + </p> + <p> + A wise muzhik passed by muttering: + </p> + <p> + “We know everything, but are not saying anything just yet. When you don’t + know anything they leave you alone. Only you can’t cover up your mouth + with a handkerchief.” + </p> + <p> + Several soldiers walked past together. They bawled their indecorous songs. + Their faces were grey-red in colour. They stank of sweat, putrescence, bad + tobacco, and vodka. + </p> + <p> + “I have laid down my stomach for my faith, my Tsar, and my Fatherland,” a + smart young colonel was saying. + </p> + <p> + After him came a thin man with the face of a Jesuit and cried out loudly: + </p> + <p> + “Russia for the Russians!” + </p> + <p> + A stout merchant kept on repeating: + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t cheat you can’t sell your goods. Even a fur coat might be + turned inside out. Your penny makes you well thought of anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + An austere, freckled woman was saying: + </p> + <p> + “Beat me, seeing that I’m your woman, but there’s no law that’ll let you + tie up with a girl so long as you’ve got a wife living.” + </p> + <p> + A muzhik walked at her side, a dirty, ill-smelling fellow, who said + nothing and hiccuped. + </p> + <p> + Once more there was a nobleman, large, stout, bristling, savage-looking. + He ranted: + </p> + <p> + “Hang them! Flog them!” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov turned to Kirsha: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be afraid, Kirsha—these are dead words.” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha silently nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + A mistress and her servant-maid walked together and exchanged quarrelsome + words. + </p> + <p> + “God didn’t make all the trees in the forest alike. I am a white bone, you + are a black bone. I am a gentlewoman, you are a peasant-woman.” + </p> + <p> + “You may be a gentlewoman, yet trash.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe trash, but still from the gentry.” + </p> + <p> + Quite close to the magic line there was an apparent effort on the part of + an elegantly dressed woman and a young man of the breed of dandies to + emerge from the general throng. They had been only recently buried, and + they exhaled the odour of fresh corpses. The woman coquettishly moved her + half-putrefied lips and complained in a hoarse, creaking voice: + </p> + <p> + “They’ve forced us to walk with all these <i>Khams</i>.<a + href="#linknote-16" name="linknoteref-16" id="linknoteref-16"><small>16</small></a> + They might have let us walk separately from all this common folk.” + </p> + <p> + The dandy suddenly complained in a squeaking voice: + </p> + <p> + “Be careful, there, muzhik, don’t nudge. What a dirty fellow!” + </p> + <p> + The muzhik had evidently only just jumped out of his grave; he was barely + awake, and he had not yet realized himself or understood his condition. He + was all dishevelled and in rags. His eyes were turbid. Curses and indecent + words issued from his dead lips. He was angry because he had been + disturbed, and he bawled: + </p> + <p> + “By what right? You are lying there and not doing any one any harm, and + are roused and made to walk along. What new rules have they got for us—disturbing + the dead! You’ve only just found your earth—when up you must be and + moving.” + </p> + <p> + Unsteady on his feet, the muzhik continued to pour out his coarse abuse; + when he saw Trirodov he opened his eyes wide and went straight to him. He + was blindly conscious of being in the presence of a stranger and an enemy + and he wished to destroy him. Kirsha trembled and grew pale. He clung to + his father in fear. The quiet boy, retaining his tranquil sadness, stood + at their side, like an angel on guard. + </p> + <p> + The muzhik touched the enchanted line. Pain and terror transpierced him. + He stared with his dead eyes, but quickly lowered them; as he was unable + to withstand the look of the living, he fell with his forehead to the + ground just beyond the line and begged for mercy. + </p> + <p> + “Go!” said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + The muzhik rose to his feet and scampered away. But he soon paused, and + again burst out into abuse; then ran farther. + </p> + <p> + Two lean, poorly dressed boys, with green faces, walked by. The rags which + bound their feet hung loosely. One of them said: + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand? They tormented me, tyrannized over me. I ran away and + they caught me again—I had no strength left. I went to the garret + and strangled myself. I don’t know what I shall get for it now.” + </p> + <p> + The other green boy replied: + </p> + <p> + “As for me, I was beaten with salted rods. My hands are quite clean.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are lucky,” said the first boy enviously. “You will get a little + golden wreath, but what will happen to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I will entreat the angels, the archangels, the cherubim and the seraphim + for you—give me but your full name and address.” + </p> + <p> + “My sin is quite a big one, and my name is Mitka Sosipatrov, from Nizhniya + Kolotilovka.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be afraid,” said the birched boy. “As soon as they let me in to the + upper chambers, I will at once fall at the feet of the Virgin Mary until + you are forgiven.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, do me this great favour.” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha stood pale. His eyes sparkled. He trembled from head to foot and + kept on repeating: + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, come to me! Mamma, come to me!” + </p> + <p> + A radiant apparition suddenly appeared in the throng, and Kirsha throbbed + with joy. Kirsha’s mother passed by—all white, all lovely, all + gentle. She turned her tranquil eyes upon her dear ones and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “I will come.” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha, transported with a quiet joy, stood motionless. His eyes gleamed + like the eyes of the quiet angel who stood there on guard. + </p> + <p> + Again the dead throng moved on. A governor passed by. All his figure + breathed might and majesty. Yet hardly awake, he grumbled: + </p> + <p> + “Make way for the Russian Governor! I’ll have no patience with you. I will + not permit it! You cannot frighten me. What! Feed the hungry, you say?” + </p> + <p> + He appeared, as it were, to awaken at these words; he looked around him + and said in great astonishment, as he shrugged his shoulders: + </p> + <p> + “What a strange disorder! How did I get into this crowd? Where is the + police?” + </p> + <p> + Then he suddenly bawled out: + </p> + <p> + “Let the Cossacks come!” + </p> + <p> + In response to the Governor’s cry a detachment of Cossacks came flying. + Without noticing Trirodov and the children, they swept along past them and + savagely flourished their <i>nagaikas</i>.<a href="#linknote-17" + name="linknoteref-17" id="linknoteref-17"><small>17</small></a> The dead, + pressed from behind by the Cossacks’ horses, became a confused, wavering + mass, and answered with malignant laughter to the blows of the <i>nagaikas</i> + upon their lifeless bodies. + </p> + <p> + The grey witch sat down on a near-by stone and shook with her hideous, + creaking laughter. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Elisaveta dressed herself up as a boy. She loved to do this and she did it + quite often; so tedious is the monotony of our lives that even a change of + dress furnishes a diversion! + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta put on a white sailor-jacket with a blue collar, and blue + knee-breeches which revealed the beauty and grace of her sunburnt lower + limbs; she put on a cap, took a fishing-rod and went to the river. + Elisaveta looked like a rather tall stripling of fourteen in this dress. + </p> + <p> + It was quiet and bright on the river’s bank. Elisaveta sat down on a stone + at the edge, lowered her feet into the water, and watched the float. A + rowing-boat appeared. Elisaveta looked intently and saw that it contained + Stchemilov. The latter called out: + </p> + <p> + “I say, my lad, if you belong here, can you tell me if....” + </p> + <p> + Then he paused because Elisaveta was laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, who would have thought it—comrade Elisaveta?” + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t recognize me, comrade?” asked Elisaveta with a merry laugh, as + she approached the landing-place where Stchemilov was already fastening + his boat. + </p> + <p> + “I must confess that I didn’t know you at once,” he replied, as he pressed + her hand warmly. “I have come for you. To-night we are to hold our mass + meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it really to-night?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + She grew cold from agitation and confusion as she recalled that she had + promised to speak that evening. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to-night,” said Stchemilov; “I hope you haven’t changed your mind. + You will speak, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was to be to-morrow,” she replied. “Just wait a moment. I’ll + get a small bundle of clothes. I will change at your place.” + </p> + <p> + She quickly and gaily tripped up the bank. Stchemilov whistled as he sat + waiting in the boat. Elisaveta soon reappeared, and deftly jumped into the + boat. + </p> + <p> + It was necessary to row past the whole length of the town. No one on + either bank recognized Elisaveta in her boy’s attire. Stchemilov’s house, + a cabin in the middle of a vegetable garden, stood on a steep bank of the + river, just along the edge of the town. + </p> + <p> + No one had yet arrived at the house. Elisaveta picked up a periodical + which lay on the table and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, comrade, how do you like these verses?” + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov looked at the periodical, open at a page which contained + Trirodov’s verses. He smiled and said: + </p> + <p> + “What shall I say? His revolutionary poems are not bad. Nowadays, however, + everybody writes them. As for his other works, they are not written about + us. Noblemen’s delights are not for us.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a long time since I’ve been here,” said Elisaveta. “What a mess + you’ve got here.” + </p> + <p> + “A house without a mistress,” answered Stchemilov, rather confused. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta began to put things in order and to clean and to scrub. She + moved about with agile grace. Stchemilov admired her graceful limbs; it + was fascinating to watch the play of the muscles under the brown skin of + her calves. He exclaimed in a clear, almost ecstatic voice: + </p> + <p> + “How graceful you are, Elisaveta! Like a statue! I never saw such arms and + legs.” + </p> + <p> + “I feel embarrassed, comrade Aleksei. You praise me to my eyes as if I + were a charming piece of property.” + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov suddenly flushed with embarrassment; his habitual + self-assurance appeared to have left him unexpectedly. He breathed heavily + and stammered out in confusion: + </p> + <p> + “Comrade Elisaveta, you are a fine person. Don’t be offended at my words. + I love you. I know that for you social inequality is a silly thing; and + you know that for me your money is of no account. Now if I am not + repugnant to you....” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta stood before him calm and yet sad, and as she dried her hands, + grown red from the cold water, with a towel, she said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, comrade Aleksei—you are right about my views, but I + love another.” + </p> + <p> + She herself did not know how these words came to be spoken. Love another! + So unexpectedly the secret of her heart revealed itself in superficial + words. But did he love her, that other one? + </p> + <p> + They were both flustered. Stchemilov strove heroically to control his + agitation. As he looked with his confused eyes into her clear blue ones he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Elisaveta, and forget what I have said. I didn’t guess right + that time and did the wrong thing. I didn’t think that you’d love him. + Don’t be angry at me and don’t despise me.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough, Aleksei,” said Elisaveta tenderly. “You know how I respect you. + We are friends. Give me your hand.” + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov gave her hand a tight, comradely pressure, then bent down and + kissed it. Elisaveta drew nearer to him and kissed his lips with a + tranquil, innocent, delicious kiss, such as a sister gives a brother. Then + she snatched up her bundle and ran into the passage, one of the doors of + which led to a small storeroom where the literature was kept in a trunk + under the floor. + </p> + <p> + She ran into Kiril on the way. + </p> + <p> + “Is Aleksei home, my lad?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Elisaveta; “enter, comrade Kiril.” + </p> + <p> + When Kiril heard the familiar voice and, lifting his eyes, saw plaits of + hair wound around the lad’s head, he was astonished. He was very much + embarrassed upon recognizing Elisaveta. She hid herself behind the door of + the storeroom, while Kiril blundered for a long time in the dark hall, + unable in his confusion to find the door. + </p> + <p> + Others began to come in: there was the school-instructor Bodeyev, + instructor Voronok of the town school, and the imported orator, who came + accompanied by Alkina. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta was attired by now in a simple dark blue dress. + </p> + <p> + “It’s time to start,” said Stchemilov. + </p> + <p> + Once seated in the rowing-boat, the members of the party became silent and + slightly nervous. Only the new-comer was perfectly calm—he was used + to it. Near-sighted, he looked indifferently out of his spectacles, now + one side, now the other, and told bits of news while smoking one cigarette + after another. He was young, tall, and flat-chested. He had a lean face, + long, smooth, chestnut-coloured hair, and a scant beard. His flat round + cap, reddish in the sun, gave him the look of an artisan. + </p> + <p> + It had begun to grow dark by the time they disembarked at the appointed + place. There was still a half-verst to go through the wood on foot. The + evening twilight seemed oppressed under the eternal vaults of the wood; it + hummed and rustled with barely audible noises and the sad whisperings of + stealthy beings. + </p> + <p> + They gathered at last in a large glade in the midst of a tall, dense wood. + The moon was already high in the sky, and the black shadows of the trees + crept across half of the glade. The trees were intensely still and + pensive, as if they wished to listen to the words of these people who had + collected at their feet. But they really did not care to listen—they + had their own life and were indifferent to all these people. And they + suffered neither joy nor sadness at sheltering in their dark shade many + young girls who were in love with the dream of liberation—among them + Elisaveta, who was also in love with this dream, and who created for it a + temple of young passion and embroidered into this dream’s design the image + of a living man in a mysterious house. She was deliciously in love and + painfully agitated by the sudden acknowledgment she made of her love in + her poignantly sweet words, “I love another.” + </p> + <p> + In the dark shade of the trees were red glimmering cigarettes and pipes. + The odour of tobacco mingled with the fresh, nocturnal coolness and gave + it a sweet piquancy. Piquant also, in the nocturnal stillness, were the + sounds of the young, eager voices. And these people had no concern with + the mystery of the wood made audible in the silence. The people behaved as + if they were at home. They sat about and walked and met each other and + chatted. Sometimes, when the din of talk grew too loud, the leaders of the + meeting uttered their warnings. Then the voices were lowered. + </p> + <p> + There were about three hundred people of all kinds—labouring men, + young people from schools, young Jews, and very many girls. All the young + Jews and Jewesses of the town had come. They were agitated more than the + rest and their speech nearly always passed into a violent commotion. They + awaited so much, they hoped so passionately! They were so painfully in + love with the dream of liberation! + </p> + <p> + Some of the instructresses from Trirodov’s colony were also here, among + them the sad Nadezhda and the ecstatic Maria. There were quite a number of + schoolboys and schoolgirls present. These tried to act at ease, to show + that it was not their first occasion of the sort. There were also many + college students, both men and women. The young were burning with joyous + unrest. But all who had gathered were intensely agitated. It was the sweet + agitation of their dream of liberation; how tenderly and how passionately + they were in love with it! And in more than one young heart virginal + passion flowed together with the dream of liberation; young passionate + love flamed with a great fire in the joy of liberation, making one of + liberation and love, of revolt and sacrifice, of wine and blood—what + delicious mystery in love thirsting and yielding! And more than one pair + of eyes sparkled at the sight of a beloved image, and more than one pair + of lips whispered: + </p> + <p> + “And he’s here!” + </p> + <p> + “And she’s here!” + </p> + <p> + In the shade, under the trees, where indiscreet glances could not + penetrate, impatient lips met in a quick, timid kiss. And the first words + were: + </p> + <p> + “I’m not late, comrade?” + </p> + <p> + “No, comrade Natalya, you are in time.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go over there, comrade Valentine.” + </p> + <p> + The names were pronounced tenderly. A man in a cap, black shirt,<a + href="#linknote-18" name="linknoteref-18" id="linknoteref-18"><small>18</small></a> + and high boots, walked up to Elisaveta. He had a small black beard and + moustache, and his face, which was both familiar and unfamiliar, had + something in it that stirred her. He exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Elisaveta, you don’t recognize me?” + </p> + <p> + She recognized him at once by his voice. A warmth suffused her. She + laughed and said joyously: + </p> + <p> + “I knew you by your voice alone. Your beard and moustache make you wholly + unrecognizable.” + </p> + <p> + “They are glued on,” explained Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + They conversed. He heard some one whisper behind his back: + </p> + <p> + “That is comrade Elisaveta. She’s considered the first beauty in our + town.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov was for some reason overjoyed at these words, partly because + Elisaveta heard them and blushed so furiously that even the dim moonlight + could not hide her blushes. + </p> + <p> + A few detectives had also managed to find their way here, and there was + even one provocateur. These chattels alone knew that the police had + information about the meeting and that the wood would shortly be encircled + by the Cossacks. + </p> + <p> + Conversations were kept up among small groups for some time before the + meeting opened. The agitators discussed matters with labouring men who + were not in the party. The more interesting people were introduced to the + invited speaker. + </p> + <p> + Stchemilov’s loud voice rang out: + </p> + <p> + “Comrades, attention. I propose comrade Abram as chairman.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed, agreed,” came suppressed voices from every side. + </p> + <p> + Comrade Abram took his place on a high stump of a hewn-down tree. The + speeches began. Elisaveta was nervous until it came her turn to speak. She + was troubled with pain and fear because she knew that Trirodov would hear + her. + </p> + <p> + Proud, brave watchwords and bold instructions were heard. The provocateur + also made a speech. He urged them to an immediate armed revolt. Some one’s + voice called out: + </p> + <p> + “Comrades—this man’s a provocateur!” + </p> + <p> + There was a commotion. The provocateur shouted something in his defence. + He was promptly jostled out. + </p> + <p> + Then Stchemilov spoke; he was followed by the invited orator. Elisaveta’s + agitation grew. + </p> + <p> + But when the chairman said, “Comrade Elisaveta, the word belongs to you,” + she suddenly became calm and, having ascended the high stump that served + as the platform, began to speak. Her deep, measured voice carried far. + Some one seemed to echo it in the wood—it was like a fantastic, + restless din. A being beloved by her and near to her sat there and + listened; her beloved, near comrades also listened. Hundreds of attentive + eyes followed her, and the dear friendly looks, converging like lances + under a shield, held her very high in the pure atmosphere of happiness. + </p> + <p> + The sweet moments of joy passed by like a short dream. She ended her + speech and came down among the audience, where she was received with + flattering comments and strong pressures of the hand—sometimes, it + must be confessed, a little over-strong. + </p> + <p> + “I say, comrade, you’ll break my hand. How strong you are!” + </p> + <p> + And his face would also break into a joyous smile. + </p> + <p> + The speeches ended. The songs began. The wood re-echoed with proud, brave + words, with a song of freedom and revolt. Suddenly the song stopped short, + a confused murmur ran through the crowd. Some one shouted: + </p> + <p> + “The Cossacks!” + </p> + <p> + Some one shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Run, comrades!” + </p> + <p> + Some one ran. Some one shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Be calm, comrades!” + </p> + <p> + The Cossacks had hid themselves in the wood a couple of versts from the + meeting. Many of them had managed to take several drinks. As they sat + around their bonfires they began to sing a gay, noisy, indecent song, but + their officers enjoined silence. + </p> + <p> + A spy came running; he whispered something to the colonel. Soon a command + was given. The Cossacks jumped quickly on their horses and rode away, + leaving the half-consumed bonfire behind them. The dry faggots and the + grass smouldered a long time. The forest caught fire.<a href="#linknote-19" + name="linknoteref-19" id="linknoteref-19"><small>19</small></a> + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + Some one whispered quickly: + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear, it’s the Cossacks! I wonder which side they are coming from. + It’s hard to tell which way to run.” + </p> + <p> + “They are coming from town,” said some one. “The only thing to do is to go + towards Opalikha.” + </p> + <p> + The leaders began to give orders: + </p> + <p> + “Comrades, be calm. Scatter as quickly as possible. Don’t jostle. The road + to Dubky is clear.” + </p> + <p> + A number of horses’ heads suddenly appeared from among the trees quiet + close to Elisaveta, and their dumb but good eyes looked on + incomprehensibly. The crowd of young people began to run, and carried + Elisaveta along with them. She was seized by a feeling of stupor. She + thought: + </p> + <p> + “What’s the use of running? They’ll overtake us and drive us wherever they + will.” + </p> + <p> + But she had not enough strength to pause. They were all running, and she + with them. Another detachment of Cossacks appeared in front of them. Cries + and wails went up from the crowd, which began to scatter in all + directions. The Cossacks came on, as it were, in a broad chain. + </p> + <p> + Many managed to break through, some with blood-stained faces and torn + clothes. The others were driven forward from the rear and the sides and + gradually became a compact mass. It was evident that the Cossacks were + trying to get the crowd into the middle of the glade. Those who had broken + through the ring at the very beginning had some hope of escape. There were + about a hundred people in the ring. They were driven towards the town, and + those who tried to escape were lashed with the <i>nagaika</i>. + </p> + <p> + A few shots resounded in the distance. The provocateur fired the first + shot—into the air. This aroused the anger of the Cossacks, who began + to shoot at those who ran. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta and Alkina managed to escape the first ring together. But they + could hear all around them the cries of the Cossacks. They paused and + pressed close to an old oak, not knowing which way to turn. They were + joined by Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Follow me,” he said to them; “I think I can find a less dangerous place.” + </p> + <p> + “What has become of our invited speaker?” asked Alkina. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t worry about that,” was the impatient reply; “he was the first to be + attended to. He’s out of danger now. You’d better go on quickly.” + </p> + <p> + He walked confidently through the bushes and they followed him. + </p> + <p> + The sounds made by the patrols of Cossacks were heard on every side. + Suddenly the runners were confronted by the figure of a Cossack who + stepped out from the bushes. He aimed his <i>nagaika</i> at Elisaveta, but + she, falling headlong, escaped the brunt of the blow. The Cossack bent + down, caught Elisaveta by her plait of hair, and began to drag her after + him. Elisaveta cried out from pain. Trirodov pulled out a revolver and + shot him almost without taking aim. The Cossack cried out and let his + victim go. All three then made their way through the bushes. A deep hollow + cut their progress short. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we are almost out of danger here,” said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + They lowered themselves, almost rolled down to the bottom of the hollow. + Their faces and hands bore scratches and their clothes were torn. On one + of the sloping sides of the hollow they found a deep recess made by the + rains, and now obscured by the bushes; and here they hid themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Presently we’ll make for the river-bank,” said Trirodov. “We are quite + close to it.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly they heard the crackle of breaking twigs above them, followed by + a revolver-shot and outcries. A running figure defined itself in the dark. + </p> + <p> + “Kiril!” called Elisaveta in a whisper, “come here.” + </p> + <p> + Kiril heard her, and threw himself through the bushes in the direction of + the hiding-place. Elisaveta could now see, quite close to her, his + fatigued, desperate eyes. There was a loud, near report of a revolver. + Kiril reeled; there was the sound of breaking twigs as he fell heavily and + rolled down the hollow. + </p> + <p> + Presently a running Cossack came down precipitately from above. He brushed + so closely past them that a twig caught by his body struck Alkina’s + shoulder. But Alkina did not stir; pale, slender, and calm, she stood + tightly pressing her body against the almost perpendicular wall of their + refuge. The Cossack bent over Kiril, examined him attentively, then + muttered as he straightened himself: + </p> + <p> + “Well, there’s no breath left in him. You’re done for, my clever chap.” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to climb back again. When the rustle of the parted bushes + ceased Trirodov said: + </p> + <p> + “Now we must walk carefully along this hollow until we come to the river. + There is a bend in the river here in the direction of the town—we + are bound to get somewhere almost across from my place. Then we must find + our way to the other side somehow or other.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly and cautiously they made their way through the thick growths of the + hollow. They walked in the dark—Trirodov and the two with him, his + chance one and his fated one, sent him by the two Moirae, Aisa and Ananke.<a + href="#linknote-20" name="linknoteref-20" id="linknoteref-20"><small>20</small></a> + </p> + <p> + The bushes became moist and a fresh breeze blew from the river. Then + Alkina came close to Trirodov and whispered to him: + </p> + <p> + “If you are glad that she loves you, tell me, and I will share your + gladness.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov pressed her hand warmly. + </p> + <p> + The quiet, dim river lay before them. Beyond it the labours and dangers of + life created by the dream of liberation awaited them. + </p> + <p> + Soon the mist would rise above the river under the cold and witching moon—soon + the misty veil of fantasy would lighten the tedious and commonplace life, + and behind the veil of mist there would rise in dim outlines another kind + of life, creative and unattainable. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + That night the streets of Skorodozh were alive with noises—which + gradually died away. The frightened townsmen sprang from their warm beds, + and peering through the half-opened blinds into the dark streets saw those + who had been caught in the woods led away in the custody of the Cossacks. + Then when the stamp of horses’ hoofs and the hum of human voices subsided, + the residents quietly went back to their beds, and were soon asleep. Lady + Godiva would have been highly pleased with such modest people: they + looked, yet did not show themselves, and did not hinder. + </p> + <p> + They went to bed again, and muttered something to their wives. The + freedom-loving bourgeois grumbled: + </p> + <p> + “They won’t let you sleep. The horses’ hoofs make such a noise. They might + employ bicycles instead of horses.” + </p> + <p> + The night passed like a nightmare for many. It seemed to grip all life + with a cold apprehensiveness, and burdened one’s soul with a hate towards + the earthly life which suffered agony from its bondage to the flaming, + exultant Dragon. Why did he exult? Was it because we beings of the earth + are evil and cruel, and love to torment, to see drops of blood and tears? + </p> + <p> + Our dark, earthly nature is suffused with a cruel voluptuousness. Such is + the imperfection of the human breed that a single human vessel contains + all the deepest ecstasies of love and all the lowest delights of lust, and + the mixture is poisoned with shame and with pain—and with the desire + for shame and pain. From one fountain come both the gladdening raptures + and the gladdening lusts of the passions. We torment others only because + it gives us joy. + </p> + <p> + After the agonies on the way from the wood, after a search had been made, + many of the prisoners were dispatched to prison. Others were set free. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + A restless, sluggish, and unfriendly morning rose over the city. From the + wood, just beyond the town, came the half-pleasant, half-disagreeable + odour of a forest fire. + </p> + <p> + The news about the two dead victims, Kiril and another workman, Kliukin, a + family man, soon spread. Their comrades were excited. + </p> + <p> + The corpses had been taken to the mortuary of the town hospital. A large + crowd, grave, silent, and resolute in mood, had gathered quite early near + the mortuary. It mostly consisted of labouring men, and their wives and + children. The large square in front of the hospital, with its dirty, + unpaved spots, its trampled grass, its grey, gloomy little shops, appeared + oppressed by an atmosphere of early morning fatigue. The slant rays of the + rising Dragon, veiled with a light mist, fell upon the scowling faces of + the crowd as indifferently as upon the fence or the closed gates. The + Ancient Dragon is not our sun. + </p> + <p> + The faces of those who stood near the closed gates were scowling. No one + was permitted to enter the hospital. Within, preparations were going on + for a secret burial of the victims. Tumultuous voices of anger rose in the + crowd. + </p> + <p> + A detachment of Cossacks soon appeared on the scene. They came on quickly, + and paused near the crowd. The beautiful smooth horses trembled + sensitively. The riders were handsome, sun-burnt, black-eyed, and + black-browed; their black hair, not cut in the military fashion, was + visible from under their high hats. The women in the crowd looked at them + now and then with involuntary admiration. + </p> + <p> + The tumult increased, the crowd continued to grow. The whole square was + alive with people. There seemed to be imminent danger of a bloody + collision. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov went that morning to the chief of the rural police and to the + officer of the gendarmerie. He wished to convince them that a secret + burial would only add to the workers’ excitement. The chief listened to + him in a dull way, and kept on repeating: + </p> + <p> + “Impossible. I can’t....” + </p> + <p> + He gazed down persistently. This caused his neck to look tight, poured out + like copper. And he kept on turning his ring round his finger as if it + were a talisman protecting him from hostile calumny. + </p> + <p> + The colonel of the gendarmes proved easier to deal with. In the end + Trirodov succeeded in obtaining an order for the surrender of the bodies + of the dead men to their families. + </p> + <p> + The chief of the rural police arrived in the square. The crowd greeted him + with discordant and angry cries. He stood up in his trap and motioned with + his hand. Every one grew silent. He addressed them: + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to bury them yourselves? Very well, you shall have them. + Only be careful that nothing happens which shouldn’t happen. In any case, + the Cossacks will be present, in an emergency. And now I will see that the + bodies of your comrades are delivered to you.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + The sun was already high when Elisaveta awoke. She quickly recalled all + that happened the night before. She took but little time in dressing and, + urged by a suppressed excitement, was soon on the way to Trirodov in her + carriage. Trirodov met her at the gates. He was returning from town, and + he told her briefly about his conferences with the authorities. Elisaveta + said resolutely: + </p> + <p> + “I want to see the family of the dead man.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know where they live. We shall have to see Voronok first. He has + all the information.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we find him at home now?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” said Trirodov. “If he’s at home we’ll all start together.” + </p> + <p> + They drove off. The dusty road trailed behind the rapid wheels, and + revealed vistas of depressing commonplaceness. The light dust, stirred by + the wheels into the sultry air, trailed behind the carriage like a long + serpent. The high flaming Dragon looked down from his inaccessible sky + with furious eyes upon the impoverished earth. There was a thirst for + blood in the hot glister of his rays, and there was a soaring exultation + because men had shed some priceless drops of the wine of life. In the + midst of these open, heat-swept spaces, Trirodov, drawn at this moment + into the crowded town life, was addressing his companion in dull, everyday + words: + </p> + <p> + “They searched many houses early this morning. They found a great deal of + literature at Stchemilov’s. He’s been arrested.” + </p> + <p> + He also repeated the rumour of whippings at the police-station. Elisaveta + was silent. + </p> + <p> + Voronok’s house was situated in a very convenient place, somewhere between + the centre of the town and the factory section. This house had many + visitors because Voronok was an assiduous worker in the local Social + Democratic Party. His chief function was to carry on propaganda among the + working men and the young, and incidentally to instil into them party + views and a true understanding of the aims of the working classes. + </p> + <p> + Young boys used to come to Voronok, his pupils from the town school, and + these brought their comrades and acquaintances with them—those whom + they met at home or by chance. They were for the most part charming, + sincere, and intelligent youngsters, but very dishevelled and very + self-conscious. Voronok taught them very heartily and with good results. + They assimilated his teachings: a sympathy towards the working + proletariat, a hate towards the satiated bourgeois, a consciousness of the + irreconcilability of the interests of the two classes, and a few random + facts from history. The ragamuffins from the town school invariably opened + every visit to Voronok by complaining against the school rules and the + inspector. They complained chiefly about trifles. They would say with an + injured air: + </p> + <p> + “They compel us to wear official badges upon our caps.” + </p> + <p> + “They treat us as if we were little children.” + </p> + <p> + “They brand us, so that every one may know that we are the boys of the + town school.” + </p> + <p> + “They force us to cut our hair; why should our hair worry them?” + </p> + <p> + Voronok sympathized with them fully. This helped him to keep them in a + state of revolt. Their no less unkempt friends, who did not go to school, + also found something to complain about—if not against their parents, + then against the police, indeed against anything that occurred to them. + But their complaints did not contain quite that poison and steadiness + which was instilled into the schoolboys with all the force of a school. + Voronok used to give both classes pamphlets that cost a kopeck and were + intensely strict in their party purity. + </p> + <p> + The younger of the working men also used to come to Voronok’s house. There + were still others, a ragged, grumbling lot, who appeared to carry an air + of eternal injury with them, as if they had lost all capacity for smiling + and jesting. Voronok took great pains to read the pamphlets with them, and + to explain to them anything that was not especially clear. Regular hours + were allotted for these readings and conversations. By such means Voronok + succeeded in developing the desired mood in his visitors; all the party + shibboleths were assimilated by them quickly and thoroughly. He also gave + them books for home reading. Many used to buy this literature + occasionally. + </p> + <p> + In this manner, a flood of books and pamphlets continually poured through + Voronok’s house. Sometimes he selected whole libraries, and sent them by + trustworthy people through the villages. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta and Trirodov found Voronok at home. He did not much resemble a + party workman; he was gracious, spoke little, and produced the impression + of a reserved, well-trained man. He always wore starched linen, a high + collar, a fashionable tie and a bowler hat. He had his hair trimmed short, + and his beard was most neatly brushed. + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you, with pleasure,” said Voronok amiably. + </p> + <p> + He seized his thin cane, put on his bowler hat, took a cursory glance of + himself in the mirror, and said again: + </p> + <p> + “I’m ready. But perhaps you’d like to rest?” + </p> + <p> + They declined, and the three of them started off. The painful silence of + the bright streets hovered about them stealthily and expectantly. They + seemed strangers among these wooden huts, depressing fences, and the + tottering little bridges. They wanted to ask: + </p> + <p> + “Why are we going?” + </p> + <p> + But this only seemed to bring them closer, and to make the quick beats of + their hearts more friendly. The whole picture of the life of the poor was + here in all its sordidness; dirty, malicious children played here, and + abused each other, and wrangled; a drunkard reeled; grey buckets swung on + a grey wooden yoke across the shoulders of a grey woman in a worn grey + dress. + </p> + <p> + There was everyday commonplaceness in the poverty of the house, where lay + the hastily prepared yellow corpse. A pale-faced woman stood at its head, + and wailed quietly and ceaselessly. Three pale, sandy-haired children came + in and looked at the visitors; their gaze was at once strange and stupid, + neither joyous nor sad, but dulled for ever. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta went up to the woman. The blooming, rosy, graceful girl stood at + the side of the pale, tear-eyed woman, and was quietly saying something to + her; the latter was nodding her head and crooning unnecessary, belated + words. Trirodov turned quietly to Voronok: + </p> + <p> + “Is any money needed?” + </p> + <p> + Voronok whispered back: + </p> + <p> + “No, his comrades will bury him. We’ll make a collection among ourselves. + Afterwards the family will need some money.” + </p> + <p> + The day of the funeral arrived. The factories stopped work. There was a + clear sky, and under it the turbulent crowd; the light currents of incense + streamed in the air, and its sumptuous aroma mingled with the light odour + of the smoke that came from the forest cinders. The schoolboys struck and + went to the funeral. Some of the schoolgirls came also. The more timid + ones remained in school. + </p> + <p> + The children from Trirodov’s colony decided to come. They brought two + wreaths with them. The quiet children came also. They kept by themselves + and were silent. + </p> + <p> + The entire town police were present at the funeral. Even police from + outlying districts were here. As always, petty provocateurs lurked among + the crowd. + </p> + <p> + The crowd moved calmly and solemnly. Above it the wreaths swung, the red + flowers glimmered vividly, the red ribbons fluttered. The Cossacks rode + alongside. There was austerity and suspicion in their looks—they + were prepared to suppress any demonstration. The chanting of a prayer + could be heard. Each time the subsided chant was renewed, the Cossacks + listened with great intentness. No—it was only the prayer again. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta and Trirodov walked with the crowd behind the coffin. They spoke + of that which enraptures those who seek rapture and frightens those who + seek repose. Poignant were Elisaveta’s impressions as she stepped upon the + sharp cobblestones of the dusty, littered pavement. + </p> + <p> + The road was long. The austere harmony was kept up for some time. At last + the cemetery was reached. Some dejected moments were passed in waiting by + the church. The last services were pronounced hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + The Cossacks moved about in bustling fashion, and as before formed a + circle around the throng. + </p> + <p> + The coffin was carried out of the church. The wreaths swung once more + above the crowd, which moved on chanting. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the women’s lament grew louder—the women’s lament above the + grave. The instructor Bodeyev then stood at the head of the coffin. He + began in his shrilly-thin, but far-carrying voice: + </p> + <p> + “Comrades, we have gathered to-day at the grave of our brother....” + </p> + <p> + The colonel of the gendarmes went up to him, and said sternly: + </p> + <p> + “It is forbidden. I must ask you to do without speeches or + demonstrations.” + </p> + <p> + Bodeyev asked in astonishment: + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I must ask you not to. It is forbidden,” said the colonel dryly. + </p> + <p> + Bodeyev shrugged his shoulders and remarked as he moved away: + </p> + <p> + “I submit to brute strength.” + </p> + <p> + “To the law,” the officer in the blue uniform corrected him sharply. + </p> + <p> + The dead man’s comrades, crowding near the grave, followed one another + with handfuls of soil, which they threw on the coffin. The damp, heavy + soil struck the coffin with a hollow sound. + </p> + <p> + The grave was being filled up. Every one stood silently, and as silently + left the spot. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly a voice was heard. + </p> + <p> + And in an instant the whole crowd began to sing words of a proud, + melancholy, revolutionary song. The Cossacks looked on morosely. The + command was given. The Cossacks quickly mounted their horses. The singing + stopped abruptly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Once outside the cemetery gates, Elisaveta said: + </p> + <p> + “I am hungry!” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go to my place,” suggested Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Elisaveta. “But I’d rather go to some tavern.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov looked at her in astonishment, but made no objection. He + understood her curiosity. + </p> + <p> + The tavern was crowded and noisy. Trirodov and Elisaveta sat down near the + window, at a small table covered with a dirty, spotted cloth. They ordered + cold meat and light beer. + </p> + <p> + At one of the tables, a young man in a red shirt sat drinking. He was in a + boastful mood. Behind his ear stuck a cigarette. The fellow intruded upon + his neighbours, and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Who’s drunk?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, who?” asked a young working man at the next table contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “I am drunk!” exclaimed the drunkard in the red shirt. “And who am I, do + you know, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, who are you? What sort of a bird are you?” asked the young working + man in the black calico blouse derisively. + </p> + <p> + “I am Borodulin!” said the drunkard, and there was an expression on his + face as if he had pronounced a famous name. + </p> + <p> + His neighbours roared with laughter, and shouted coarse, derisive words. + The fellow in the red shirt cried angrily: + </p> + <p> + “What do you think? Is Borodulin, in your opinion, a peasant?” + </p> + <p> + The working man in the black blouse began to get annoyed. His lean cheeks + grew red. He sprang from his place, and shouted angrily: + </p> + <p> + “Well, who are you? Answer.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m a peasant on my passport. An army reserve man. But that’s not all, I + assure you,” said Borodulin. + </p> + <p> + “Well, who then are you?” repeated the young working man angrily, as he + took a step towards him. + </p> + <p> + “And do you know what I am on my card? Can you guess?” asked Borodulin. + </p> + <p> + He blinked, and tried to look important. The comrades of the young working + man tried to dissuade him from pursuing his inquiries, and whispered as + they drew him away: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t waste your time on him. He’s a nobody.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m a detective, that’s what I am!” said Borodulin with his important + air. + </p> + <p> + The working man in the black blouse spat contemptuously and walked back to + his table. Borodulin went on: + </p> + <p> + “You think I’m out of my senses. No, old chap, you’re mistaken. I’m an + experienced man. What do you think of me now? I’m a detective. I can + arrest any one!” + </p> + <p> + The men at the neighbouring tables listened to him and exchanged glances. + Borodulin went on boasting. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I put the police on to you?” asked a merchant at one of the + middle tables angrily. His small black eyes sparkled. + </p> + <p> + Borodulin burst out laughing, and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “I have the police in the hollow of my hand. That’s where I have them.” + </p> + <p> + The customers grumbled. Threats were heard: + </p> + <p> + “You’d better go away while you’re still whole.” + </p> + <p> + He paid his bill and left. Suddenly the sound of a crowd gathering in the + street was heard. From the window Elisaveta and Trirodov could see the + fellow in the red shirt sauntering backwards and forwards in the street, + only a few paces from the tavern, and annoying the passers-by. He could be + heard shouting: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll report you! I’ll arrest you! Hand over your ten kopecks.” + </p> + <p> + Many, afraid of him, acceded to his request. Borodulin clutched at every + passer-by. He threw off the men’s caps, he pinched the women, while he + pulled young boys by the ear. The women ran from him shrieking. The more + timid men also ran. The bolder ones paused in menacing attitudes. These + Borodulin did not dare to molest. Small boys ran behind him in a crowd, + laughing and hooting. Borodulin grumbled. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better look out. Do you know who I am?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, who are you?” asked a young fellow whom he jostled. “You’re a + pothouse plug.” + </p> + <p> + A crowd formed round them. Their faces were morose and unfriendly. + Borodulin was afraid, but he showed a bold front and boasted. He shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Two or three of you will be necessary!” + </p> + <p> + A sudden attack was made upon Borodulin. A young robust fellow sprang + forward from the crowd with a shout, an enormous cobblestone in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this dog showing his teeth for?” + </p> + <p> + He hit Borodulin on the head with the stone. It was unfortunately too well + aimed. Borodulin fell. Others attacked him as he lay there. The workman + who hit him with the stone made his escape. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta and Trirodov were looking out of the window. Trirodov exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “The Cossacks!” + </p> + <p> + The people in the street scattered in all directions. The mutilated corpse + lay in a pool of blood on the pavement. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + Ostrov caused Trirodov a great deal of annoyance. More than once Trirodov + returned to the earlier circumstances of their acquaintance and to their + recent meeting at Skorodozh. + </p> + <p> + The week having elapsed, Ostrov paid Trirodov another visit. That whole + week Ostrov could not get rid of his confusion and uneasiness. The details + of his meeting with Trirodov became absurdly entangled in his memory. He + kept on forgetting the day of the week it was. The week passed rather + quickly for him. This was possibly due to his having made several + interesting acquaintances. He had become quite a noticeable personage + about town. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov made his visit late on Tuesday evening. He was received at once, + and led into a chamber on the ground floor. Trirodov came in almost + immediately. Not a little astonished, he asked unwillingly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, what can I do for you, Denis Alekseyevitch?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve come for the money,” said Ostrov gruffly. “To receive the promised + relief at your bountiful hands.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not expect you until Wednesday,” replied Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Why Wednesday when Tuesday is just as good?” said Ostrov with a savage + smile. “Or do you find it so hard to part with your cash? Have you become + a bourgeois, Giorgiy Sergeyevitch?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov suddenly appeared to recall something as, with a tinge of + derision in his smile, he asked: + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Denis Alekseyevitch, I thought you were coming + to-morrow, as was arranged. I haven’t the money ready for you.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov was annoyed. His broad face grew dark. He exclaimed, his eyes red + with anger: + </p> + <p> + “You asked me to come in a week, and I’ve come in a week. You don’t expect + me to come here forty times, do you? I have other business. You’ve + promised me the money, and so hand it over. You must loosen your + purse-strings whether you like it or not.” + </p> + <p> + He grew more savage with every word. In the end he struck the small round + white table that stood on slender legs in front of him with his stout + fist. Trirodov answered calmly: + </p> + <p> + “It is now Tuesday. That means the week is not up yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean it isn’t up?” said Ostrov. “I came to see you on + Tuesday. Do you count eight days in a week, in the French fashion? You + won’t come off so easily.” + </p> + <p> + “You came here on Wednesday,” replied Trirodov. “And this is why I haven’t + the money ready for you.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov was unable to grasp the situation. He looked at Trirodov with some + perplexity, and showed his irritation. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by saying that you haven’t it ready? Why should you get + it ready? All you’ve got to do is to take it out of your safe, count it + out, and give it to me—that’s the whole method of procedure. It + isn’t as if it were a lot of money—it’s a mere trifle.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be a trifle for some people. It isn’t at all a trifle for me,” + said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t pretend that you’re poor! Some one might think you were a forsaken + orphan! What do you expect us to believe?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov rose from his seat, looked with stern intentness into Ostrov’s + eyes, and said resolutely: + </p> + <p> + “In a word, I can’t give you the money to-day. Try to come here to-morrow + about this time.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov rose involuntarily from his chair. He experienced a strange + sensation, as if he were being lifted from his seat by his collar and + forcibly led to the door. He fired his parting shot: + </p> + <p> + “Only don’t think that you can pull wool over my eyes to-morrow. I’m not + the sort of a chap whom you can feed on promises.” + </p> + <p> + His small eyes gleamed malignantly. His broad jaws trembled savagely. His + feet seemed to carry him to the door of themselves. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Trirodov, “I do not intend to fool you. You will get your + money tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Ostrov came at the same hour next evening. This time he was led into + Trirodov’s study. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” asked Ostrov rather impudently, “do you mean to give me the money? + Or will you play the same farce once more?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov pulled a bundle of bank-notes out of a drawer in his + writing-table, and said as he gave them to Ostrov: + </p> + <p> + “Please count them. There should be two thousand.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov whistled and said gruffly: + </p> + <p> + “That’s too little. I asked for much more.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all you’ll get,” said Trirodov resolutely. “It ought to last you + quite a while.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will add a trifle,” said Ostrov with a stupid smile. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t,” said Trirodov coldly. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t leave town on this money,” said Ostrov in a threatening voice. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov frowned, and looked sternly at Ostrov. New thoughts began to take + shape in his mind, and he said: + </p> + <p> + “You won’t find it to your advantage to remain, and everything you do here + will be known to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I’ll go away,” said Ostrov with a stupid smile. He took the + money, counted it carefully, and put it into his greasy pocket. He was + about to take his leave, but Trirodov detained him. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go yet. We’ll have a talk.” + </p> + <p> + At the same instant a quiet boy in his white clothes appeared from some + dark corner. He paused behind Trirodov’s chair, and looked at Ostrov. His + wide dark eyes, looking out of his pale face, brought Ostrov into a state + of painful dread. He lowered himself slowly into the chair near the + writing-table. His head felt giddy. Then a strange mood of nonchalance and + submission took possession of him. His face bore an expression of + apathetic readiness to do everything that he might be commanded to do by + some one stronger than himself—whose will had conquered his. + Trirodov looked attentively at Ostrov and said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, tell me what I want to know. I wish to hear from your own lips what + you are doing here, and what you are up to. You couldn’t have done much in + such a short time, but you surely have found out something. Speak!” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov sniggered rather stupidly, fidgeted as if he were sitting on + springs, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I’ll tell you something interesting and won’t charge you a + penny for it.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov, without taking off his heavy, fixed gaze from Ostrov’s face, + repeated: + </p> + <p> + “Speak!” + </p> + <p> + The quiet boy looked with his eyes full of intense questioning straight + into Ostrov’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who killed the Chief of Police?” asked Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov was silent. Ostrov’s whole body twitched as he kept up his absurd + sniggering. + </p> + <p> + “He killed him and went away,” went on Ostrov. “He made his escape by + taking advantage of the confusion and the darkness, as the newspapers + would say. The police have not caught him to this day, and the authorities + do not even know who he is.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you know?” asked Trirodov in a cold, deliberate voice. + </p> + <p> + “I know, but I won’t tell you,” replied Ostrov rather venomously. + </p> + <p> + “You shall tell me,” said Trirodov with conviction. Then he added in even + a more loud, determined, and commanding voice: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, who killed the Chief of Police?” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov fell back into his chair. His red face became tinged with a sudden + grey pallor. His eyes, now bloodshot, half closed like those of a + prostrate doll with the eye mechanism in its stomach. There was + witheredness, almost lifelessness, in Ostrov’s voice: + </p> + <p> + “Poltinin.” + </p> + <p> + “Your friend?” asked Trirodov. “Well, go on.” + </p> + <p> + “He is now being sought for,” went on Ostrov in the same lifeless way. + </p> + <p> + “Why did Poltinin kill the Chief of Police?” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov resumed his stupid snigger, and said: + </p> + <p> + “It’s a matter of very delicate politics. That means, it simply had to be + done. I won’t tell you why. Indeed, I couldn’t tell you if I really wished + to. I don’t know myself, I can only venture to guess. But what is a guess + worth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Trirodov, “it is quite true that it is impossible for you to + know this. Continue your tale.” + </p> + <p> + “This same affair,” said Ostrov, “is a very profitable article for us just + now. Indeed, an article in the budget, as they say.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov’s face did not reveal any astonishment, as Ostrov went on: + </p> + <p> + “We have Potseluytchikov among us, a very lively individual.” + </p> + <p> + “A thief?” asked Trirodov abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov smiled almost consciously, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly a thief, still one’s got to be careful with him. An able man + in his way.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov’s eyes assumed a frankly insolent expression. Trirodov asked: + </p> + <p> + “What sort of relation has he to this article in your budget?” + </p> + <p> + “We send him out to the rich men of the place.” + </p> + <p> + “To blackmail them?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov replied with complete readiness: + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. Let us suppose that he comes to Mr. Moneybags. ‘I have,’ he + tells him, ‘a thing to tell you in confidence, a thing of great personal + interest to you.’ Left alone with Mr. Moneybags he says to him: ‘Five + hundred roubles, if you please!’ The other, it goes without saying, is up + on his hind legs. ‘What for? What sort of demand is this?’ ‘I mean what I + say,’ says the other chap. ‘Otherwise,’ he says, ‘I will put your eldest + son in gaol. I can prove that your eldest son has had something to do with + the murder of the gallant Chief of Police.’” + </p> + <p> + “They give?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Some give, some escort you out of the door,” replied Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + “A lovely crowd!” observed Trirodov contemptuously. “And what may you be + planning now?” + </p> + <p> + With the same involuntary obedience Ostrov told Trirodov how their company + was conspiring to steal a miracle-performing ikon from a neighbouring + monastery. The plan was to burn the ikon and to sell the precious stones + with which it was covered. It was a difficult affair, as the ikon was + under guard. But Ostrov’s friends were counting on taking advantage of one + of the summer feasts, when the monks, escorting distinguished pilgrims, + would have drunk freely. The thieves had still a month in which to make + preparations for the theft; they meant to make use of this time by + becoming friendly with the monks, and in this way familiarize themselves + with all the conditions. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov, having listened without interrupting, said to Ostrov: + </p> + <p> + “Forget that you have told me all this. Goodbye.” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov gave a start. He appeared as if he had just awakened. Without + comprehending the causes of his oppressive confusion he bade his host + goodbye and left. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov decided that the bishop of the local diocese must be warned of + the contemplated theft of the miracle-performing ikon. + </p> + <p> + Bishop Pelagius lived in the monastery in which the ikon of the Mother of + God, so revered by the people, was preserved. The relics of an old sainted + monk were preserved in the same monastery. Men came from all ends of + Russia to worship these holy relics. That was why this monastery was + considered wealthy. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov thought for a long time as to how he might best inform the bishop + of the contemplated theft. The thought of writing an anonymous letter was + repugnant to him. He decided that it was better to speak to the bishop in + person, or to write him a letter with his real name. But then the question + remained as to how to explain his own knowledge of the conspiracy. He + himself might be suspected as an accomplice of the criminals. As it was, + the local townsmen had none too friendly an eye for Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + He dreaded entangling himself in this dark affair. He already began to + feel vexed with himself for his strange curiosity that impelled him to + question Ostrov about his affairs. It would have been better perhaps if he + were ignorant of the conspiracy. In any case, Trirodov saw clearly that it + was impossible for him to maintain silence. He thought that the dark + aspects of monastic life did not justify the evil deed planned by Ostrov’s + companions. Besides, the consequences of this deed might well prove very + dangerous. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov decided that there was nothing left for him to do but to pay a + visit to the monastery. Once on the spot, he thought that some opportunity + of informing the bishop would occur to him. But as this visit was very + unpleasant to him, he delayed it a very long time. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + Trirodov at last realized that he was in love with Elisaveta. He knew too + well the nature of this delicious and painful emotion. It had come again + and once more filled the world with light. He had looked enigmatically + upon this broad, eternally inaccessible world, full of past memories and + past people. But his love of Elisaveta meant his love and acceptance of + the world, the whole world. + </p> + <p> + This emotion aroused dismay in Trirodov. To the perplexities of the past, + not yet thrown off his shoulders, and to those of the present begun with a + strange, as yet unmeasured influence, were to be added the perplexities of + the future, of a new and unexpected bond. And was not love in itself a + means for realizing one’s dreams? + </p> + <p> + Trirodov made effort to crush this new love in himself, and to forget + Elisaveta. He tried to keep away from the Rameyevs, not to come to their + house—but with each day his love only increased. His thoughts and + musings of Elisaveta grew more and more persistent. They became interwoven + with one another and grafted themselves on to his soul. More and more a + pencil in his hand guided itself to outline on paper now her austere + profile—softened by the youthful joy of liberation—now her + simple costume, now a rapid sketch of her shoulders and neck, or the knot + of her broad belt. + </p> + <p> + Again and again a strong hope awakened in him that he might strangle and + crush the gentle blossom of his delicious love. Several days had already + passed without his visiting the Rameyevs. He did not even come on those + days on which they grew accustomed to expect him. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta thought this a deliberate incivility, and it hurt her feelings. + But whenever Piotr abused him she defended him. Her imagination began to + evoke more and more frequently the features of his face: his deep, + observing glance; his proud, ironic smile; his pale face, clean-shaven + like an actor’s, and cold like a mask. How sweetly and how bitterly she + was in love with him—her sweet vision betrayed itself in the gleam + in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Rameyev had grown fond of Trirodov, and he missed his presence. He found + it a pleasant diversion to chat with Trirodov, and even to wrangle with + him sometimes. He made two calls at Trirodov’s house, and did not find him + in. Rameyev wrote several invitations. He received courteous but evasive + replies expressing regret at not being able to come. + </p> + <p> + One evening Rameyev growled at Piotr: + </p> + <p> + “He stopped coming because of your rudeness.” Piotr replied sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Let him stay away. I’m very glad.” + </p> + <p> + Rameyev looked at him sternly, and said: + </p> + <p> + “But I’m not glad. There’s one interesting man in this wilderness, and we + frighten him away.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr excused himself. He felt uneasy. He walked out of the house alone, + aimlessly, wishing only to escape his own relatives. + </p> + <p> + The sunset blazed for a long time, tormented itself with its unwillingness + to die; it lingered on as if it were its last day, and at last expired. + The whole sky became blue—exquisitely blue. But to the north-west an + edge of it was translucently green. The quiet stars trembled in the blue + heights. The moon, which had looked for some time a pale white in the + luminous clearness, now rose yellow and distinct. Almost total darkness + covered the earth. There was a coolness along the bank of the river—after + the hot day. There was an odour of a forest fire, and it, too, softened + its unpleasant, malignant bitterness in the dark evening coolness. A + green-haired, green-eyed water-nymph bathed near the low, dark dam; she + splashed about in the water, which struck the obstruction with a brittle + sound, and in rhythmic response to it the stream laughed most sonorously. + </p> + <p> + Piotr walked quietly upon the path along the river-bank, and thought of + Elisaveta sadly and languorously—or rather, he recalled her—evoked + her in vision—involuntarily yielded himself to the melancholy play + of the nervous fantasies of his brain. The peaceful silence of the + evening, so much at one with him, said to him without words, yet + comprehensibly, that the pitch of his soul was too quiet, too feeble for + Elisaveta, who was so strong, so erect, and so simple. + </p> + <p> + He had so little audacity—so little daring. He only believed in + Christ, in Antichrist, in his love, in her indifference—he only + believed! He only sought for the truth, and could not create it—he + could evoke neither a god from nonentity, nor a devil from dialectical + argument; neither a conquering love from carnal emotions, nor a conquering + hate from stubborn “Noes.” And he loved Elisaveta! He had loved her a long + time, with a jealous and helpless love. + </p> + <p> + He loved! What sadness! The languor of the springtide and the joyousness + of the morning breeze—the distant ringing of bells—tears in + one’s eyes—and she will smile—pass by—the dear one! What + sadness! How dark everything is upon this earth—love as well as + indifference. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Piotr saw Trirodov quite near him. Trirodov was walking straight + upon Piotr, as if he did not see him; he moved quickly, almost + automatically, like a mechanical doll. He held a hat in the hand that hung + loose at his side—his face was pale—he had a wild look—his + eyes were aflame. He uttered disconnected words. He walked so impetuously + that Piotr had no time to turn aside. They came face to face, almost + colliding with one another. Trirodov gave a start when he saw that he was + not alone. His face had an expression of fright. Piotr got out of his way + awkwardly, but Trirodov walked rapidly up to him, and looked intently as + he turned his own back to the moonlight. Piotr, involuntarily yielding to + this movement, also turned round. The moon now looked straight into + Piotr’s handsome face, which seemed pale and strange in the cold, lifeless + light. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov began in a trembling, agitated voice: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is you?” + </p> + <p> + “As you see,” said Piotr in a tone of derision. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t expect to meet you here,” said Trirodov. “I took you for....” + </p> + <p> + But he did not finish. Piotr, somewhat vexed, asked him: + </p> + <p> + “For whom?” + </p> + <p> + Without replying to the question Trirodov inquired: + </p> + <p> + “But where? ... There’s no one here. You didn’t hear...?” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t trained to eavesdropping,” replied Piotr; “all the more since + these fragments of poetry are inaccessible to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who talks of eavesdropping?” exclaimed Trirodov. “No, I thought that you + had unwillingly heard some words which might have sounded strange, + enigmatic, or terrible in your ears.” + </p> + <p> + “I came here by chance,” said Piotr. “I was taking a mere stroll, and was + not here to listen to any one.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov looked attentively at Piotr; then lowered his head with a sigh, + and said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me. My nerves are in a bad state. I have grown accustomed to + living with my fantasies, and in the peaceful society of my quiet + children. I love seclusion.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did your quiet children come from?” asked Piotr somewhat + contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + But Trirodov continued as though he had not heard. + </p> + <p> + “Please forgive me. I too often accept for reality that which exists only + in my imagination. Perhaps always. I live devoted to my dreams.” + </p> + <p> + There was so poignant a sadness in these words and in the way they were + uttered that Piotr felt an involuntary pity for Trirodov. His hate + strangely vanished—as the moon vanishes at the rising of the sun. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov said with quiet sadness: + </p> + <p> + “I have so many strange whims and ways. It is in vain that I go to see + people. It is far better for me to be alone with my innocent, quiet + children, with my secrets and dreams.” + </p> + <p> + “Why better?” asked Piotr. + </p> + <p> + “I sometimes feel that people interfere with me,” said Trirodov. “They + weary me in themselves—and no less with their petty, commonplace + affairs. And what are they to me? There is only one thing of which I can + be sure—that is myself. It is a great task to be with people. They + give me so little, and for that they thirstily and malignantly drink my + whole soul. How often have I left their company exhausted, humiliated, + crushed. What a holiday for me my solitude is, my sweet solitude! If it + were only with some one else!” + </p> + <p> + “Still you would rather it were with some one else!” replied Piotr with + sudden malice. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov looked at him steadily and said: + </p> + <p> + “Life is tragic. She destroys all illusions with the power of her pitiless + irony. You know, of course, that Elisaveta’s soul is a tragic soul, and + that a great boldness is necessary in order to approach her, and to say to + her the great Yes of life. Yes, Elisaveta....” + </p> + <p> + Piotr’s voice trembled as he shouted in jealous rage: + </p> + <p> + “Elisaveta! Why do you mention Elisaveta?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov looked steadily at Piotr. He asked rather slowly—in a + strangely sounding voice: + </p> + <p> + “You are not afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “What is there to be afraid of?” replied Piotr morosely. “I am not at all + a tragic person. My path is clear to me, and I know who guides me.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know that,” said Trirodov. “Besides, Elena is lovely. He who + fears to take the grand and the terrible, he who loves tender melodies, + for him there is Elena.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr was silent. Some sort of new—perhaps alien—thoughts + swarmed in his head. He listened to them, and suddenly said: + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t visited us for a long time, and you are very much liked in + our house. You would be welcome. You may come when you like, and you may + talk or be silent, as suits your mood.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov smiled in response. + </p> + <p> + Piotr Matov returned home quite late in a dazed state of mind. Every one + had already sat down to supper. Elisaveta glanced at him curiously—as + if she expected another person there instead of him. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve come late,” said Piotr confusedly. “I don’t know how I managed to + wander off so far.” + </p> + <p> + He could not understand why he was so flustered. He barely recognized + Elisaveta dressed up as a boy in her sailor jacket and short breeches. She + sat so erect there, and smiled her abstract, indifferent smile. + </p> + <p> + Elena, blushing for some unknown reason, moved silently closer—and + there was a strange timorousness in her movement—a timorous desire. + Piotr complied with her wish, and sat down at her side. She looked at him + tenderly, lovingly. Her glances touched him. He thought: + </p> + <p> + “Why do I not love Elena? Or is it she alone that I really love? Perhaps + some mistake of the will had dimmed my eyes?” + </p> + <p> + He conversed with her gently and tenderly, and as he looked at her again + and again, a new love took spark in him. It was as if by some prodigious + power the strange being at the river-bank had instilled this new love into + him. Elena’s heart beat joyfully. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + After that evening Trirodov, suppressing his devotion to quiet loneliness, + once more began to visit the Rameyevs. He resisted no longer the + all-powerful desire to see Elisaveta, to look into the depth of her blue + eyes, to listen to the golden sonorousness of her words, and to feel the + breathing and the witchery of her fresh, primitive strength. It was so + pleasant to look upon her simple attire, upon the trusting openness of her + shoulders, upon the light tan of her feet, and upon the austere outlines + of her face. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta’s sunlit depth became transformed for Trirodov into a blue, + fathomless height. Elisaveta’s love grew stronger; to grow stronger was + its desire, and it wished to surmount all intolerable obstacles. + </p> + <p> + Rameyev looked at Elisaveta and Trirodov, and he was consumed by a + strange, mature joy. He seemed to think: + </p> + <p> + “They will marry and bring me grandchildren.” + </p> + <p> + There were already certain hours in which they expected him. He and + Elisaveta often remained alone. Something in their natures drew them apart + from other people, whether strangers or kin. They would go off somewhere + into a neglected part of the garden, where under the spread net of superb + black poplars the agreeable aroma of thyme reached them with a gentle + poignancy—and here they loved to chat with one another. + </p> + <p> + Had he been alone instead of with Elisaveta, he could not have expressed + his thoughts more simply or more candidly. They spoke of so many things—they + tried, as it were, to contain the whole world within the rigid bounds of + rapid words. + </p> + <p> + As they strolled along the high bank of the river, under the broad shadows + of the mighty black poplars and strange black maples, and listened to the + loud, cheerful twitter of the birds that came to the bushes, Elisaveta + said: + </p> + <p> + “The sensation of existence and of the fullness and joy of life is + delicious. A new sky seems to have opened above my head, and for the first + time the violets and the lilies of the valley besprinkled with their first + dew have begun to bloom for me; and for the first time May-drinks made + from herbs by young housewives taste delicious.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov smiled sadly and said: + </p> + <p> + “I feel the heavy burden of life. But what’s to be done? I don’t know + whether life can be made more easy and tranquil.” + </p> + <p> + “Why desire ease and tranquillity in life?” asked Elisaveta. “I want fire + and passion, even if I perish. Let me become consumed in the fire of + rapture and revolt.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Trirodov, “it is necessary to discover all the possibilities + and forces within oneself, and then a new life may be created. I wonder if + life is necessary?” + </p> + <p> + “And what is necessary?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” answered Trirodov sadly. + </p> + <p> + “What do you desire?” she asked again. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I desire nothing,” said Trirodov. “There are moments when I seem + to expect nothing from life; I do what I do unwillingly, as if it were a + disagreeable action.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you live then?” asked Elisaveta in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + He replied: + </p> + <p> + “I live in a strange and unreal world. I live—but life goes past me, + always past me. Woman’s love, the fire of youth, the stirring of young + hopes, remain for ever within the forbidden boundaries of unrealized + possibilities—who knows?—perhaps unrealizable.” + </p> + <p> + The sad, flaming moments of silence were marked by the heavy beats of + Elisaveta’s heart. She felt intensely vexed by these sad words of weakness + and of dejection, and she did not believe them. But Trirodov went on + speaking, and his beautiful but hopelessly sad words sounded like a taunt + to her: + </p> + <p> + “There is so much labour and so little consolation. Life passes by like a + dream—a senseless, tormenting dream.” + </p> + <p> + “If only a radiant dream! If only a tempestuous dream!” exclaimed + Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov smiled and said: + </p> + <p> + “The time of awakening is drawing nearer. Old age comes with its + depression; and the empty, meaningless life wanders on towards unknown + borders. You ask yourself, and it seems hopeless to find a worthy answer: + ‘Why do I live in this strange and chance form? Why have I chosen my + present lot? Why have I done this?’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, who is at fault here?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov replied: + </p> + <p> + “The conscience, ripened to universal fullness, says that every fault is + my fault.” + </p> + <p> + “And that every action is my action,” added Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “An action is so impossible!” said Trirodov. “A miracle is impossible. I + wish to break loose from the claims of this dull existence.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak of love,” said Elisaveta, “as of a thing unrealized. But you + had a wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Trirodov sadly. “The short moments passed by rapidly. Was + there love? I cannot say. There was passion, a smouldering—and + death.” + </p> + <p> + “Life will again bring its delights to you,” said Elisaveta confidently. + </p> + <p> + And Trirodov answered: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it will be a different life, but what’s that to me? If one could + only be quite different, and simple—say a small child, a boy with + bare feet, with a fishing-rod in his hands, his mouth yawning + good-naturedly. Only children really live. I envy them frightfully. I envy + frightfully the simple folk, the altogether simple folk, remote from these + cheerless comprehensions of the intellect. Children live—only + children. Ripeness already marks the beginning of death.” + </p> + <p> + “To love—and to die?” asked Elisaveta with a smile. + </p> + <p> + She listened to the sound of these beautiful, sad words and repeated them + quietly: + </p> + <p> + “To love—and to die!” + </p> + <p> + And as she listened again, she heard him say: + </p> + <p> + “She loved—and she died.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the name of your first wife?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + She was amazed at herself for uttering the word “first,” as there had been + only one; and her face became suffused slowly with pink. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov fell into thought; he appeared not to have heard her question, + and was silent. Elisaveta did not repeat it. He suddenly smiled and said: + </p> + <p> + “You and I feel ourselves to be living people here, and what can there be + for us more certain than our life, our sensation of life? And yet it is + possible that you and I are not living people at all, but only characters + in a novel, and that the author of this novel is not at all concerned with + its external verisimilitude. His capricious imagination had taken this + dark earth for its material, and out of this dark, sinful earth he grew + these strange black maples and these mighty black poplars and these + twittering birds in the bushes and us.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta looked at him in astonishment and said with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “I hope that the novel will be interesting and beautiful. Let it even end + in death! But tell me, why do you write so little?” + </p> + <p> + With unexpected passion, almost with exasperation, Trirodov replied: + </p> + <p> + “Why should I write volumes of tales on how they fell in love and why they + fell out of love, and all that? I write only that which comes from myself, + that which has not yet been said. So much has already been said; it is far + better to add a simple word of one’s own than write volumes of + superfluities.” + </p> + <p> + “Eternal themes are always one and the same,” said Elisaveta. “Do they not + constitute the content of great art?” + </p> + <p> + “We never originate,” said Trirodov. “We always appear in the world with a + ready inheritance. We are the eternal successors. That is why we are not + free. We see the world with others’ eyes, the eyes of the dead. But I live + only when I make everything my own.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + And while these two spent their hours in conversing, Piotr usually made + his way somewhere to the top of the house. He sometimes descended with his + eyes red—red from tears or from the vigorous, high wind. His days + dragged on miserably. His hate and jealousy of Trirodov now and again + tormented him. + </p> + <p> + Piotr sometimes made unpleasant, pitiful scenes before Elisaveta. He loved + her and he hated her. He would have killed her—had he dared! And he + had not the force to hate either Elisaveta or Trirodov to the bitter end. + </p> + <p> + When he learned to know Trirodov better his hate lost something of its + venom, his malice no longer irritated him like nettles. He looked with + curiosity upon them and began to understand. The agony of his unconscious + fury was replaced by a clear contemplation of the separating abyss; and + this made him even more miserable. + </p> + <p> + He decided to go away; he made the decision again and again, but always + remained there—restless and yearning. + </p> + <p> + As for Misha, he fell quite in love with Trirodov. He liked to remain with + Elisaveta in order to talk about him. + </p> + <p> + One evening Piotr came to Trirodov’s house. He did not like to go there, + for such antagonistic feelings wrestled in his soul! But common courtesy + made the visit necessary. + </p> + <p> + Again a discussion was started. In Piotr’s opinion revolution was to the + detriment of religion and culture. It was a tedious, unnecessary + discussion. But Piotr could never resist uttering malicious words against + the extremes of the “liberating movement.” + </p> + <p> + He felt awkward during the whole visit. He wished to handle something all + the time and to be doing something. His restlessness tormented him in a + strange way. Now he picked up one trifle from the table, now another, and + put it down again. He took a prism in his hand. Trirodov trembled. He said + something quietly and inaudibly. Piotr did not hear, but kept on looking + in astonishment at the heavy prism in his hand; and as he turned it over + and over he wondered at the reason of its weight. Trirodov trembled + nervously. Piotr, in turning the prism rather awkwardly, struck it against + the edge of the table. Trirodov shivered, shouted something incoherently, + and, snatching the prism from Piotr’s hands, said in an agitated voice: + </p> + <p> + “Please put it down!” + </p> + <p> + Piotr looked in astonishment at Trirodov, who was visibly confused. Piotr + smiled unwillingly and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Why, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “How should I tell you!” said Trirodov. “It is connected with ... Please + forgive my sharpness. I thought you were going to drop it, and I wanted + to.... It seems like a whim.... Of course it is really nothing ... but it + is connected with an old episode in my life. Really, I don’t know why I + keep these ugly things on my table. But there are such intimate memories + ... you understand.... Still, I’m so very sorry....” + </p> + <p> + Piotr listened in perplexity. Suddenly he realized that it was rude to be + silent for so long, and he made haste to say, not without embarrassment: + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t think about it. I quite well understand that there are + things which.... But if you find it difficult or unpleasant to speak about + it, then please....” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov said a few more incoherent, confused words of apology to Piotr + and thanked him. He breathed a sigh of relief when Stchemilov was + announced. + </p> + <p> + Piotr let loose his irritation at the new-comer with the ironic question: + </p> + <p> + “Again free? For how long?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve skipped,” answered Stchemilov calmly. “I’m leading an illegal life + now.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr soon left. + </p> + <p> + “To-day?” asked Stchemilov. “Here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we’ll meet here to-day,” replied Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “He hasn’t left yet, and there are several matters and reports to attend + to. It is necessary to arrange a meeting and to let various people know + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a convenient house here,” said Stchemilov. “May I help myself?” + he added, pointing at the box of cigars as he lounged back comfortably on + the large sofa. “Most convenient,” he repeated, as he lit his cigar. “They + don’t suspect us as yet, but if they should pay you a visit, there are so + many exits and entrances here and out-of-the-way nooks.... Very convenient + indeed. It is easy to hide things here—no comparison at all with my + little trunk.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + The town was in a state of unrest: strikes were in the air, patriotic + demonstrations were held. Its outer environs were visited by + suspicious-looking characters; these distributed proclamations, mostly of + an illiterate nature, in the villages. The proclamations threatened + incendiarism if the peasants did not revolt. The incendiaries were to be + “students,” discharged from the factories on account of the strikes. The + peasants believed the announcement. In some of the villages watchmen were + engaged to catch the incendiaries at night. + </p> + <p> + Ostrov began to play a noticeable rôle in town. He quickly squandered the + money he received from Trirodov in drink and in other ways. He did not + dare as yet to visit Trirodov again, but appeared to be in an expectant + mood, and remained in town. + </p> + <p> + It was here that Ostrov met his old friend Yakov Poltinin. + </p> + <p> + Yakov Poltinin and two other members of the Black Hundred were sent from + the capital at the request of Kerbakh and Zherbenev. The apparent purpose + of this request was to establish a connexion between the local section of + the All-Russian Black Hundred union—organized by Kerbakh, Zherbenev, + and Konopatskaya, the wife of a general—with the central office of + the organization. The actual purpose, however, as understood by all these + respected folk, though they ventured to do little more than hint of it to + one another, was to establish—with the help of the trio—a + patriotic movement; in short, to strike a blow at the <i>intelligentsia</i>. + </p> + <p> + Yakov Poltinin took Ostrov with him to visit the families of the patriots. + A company of suspicious characters was in town—ready to do anything + they were bidden. Yakov Poltinin led Ostrov also among this company. + </p> + <p> + In the course of the company’s friendly carouse at Poltinin’s apartments + in a dirty little house on the outskirts of the town, the idea of stealing + the sacred ikon came into some one’s mind. Poltinin said: + </p> + <p> + “There’s no end of precious stones on it of all sorts—diamonds, + sapphires, and rubies. It took hundred of years to collect them. Little + Mother Russia, orthodox Russia, has done her best.” + </p> + <p> + The thief Potseluytchikov affirmed: + </p> + <p> + “It’s certainly worth not less than two million.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re putting it on rather thick,” declared Ostrov incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said Poltinin with a knowing look. “Two million is putting + it mildly—it’s more likely worth three.” + </p> + <p> + “And how are you going to dispose of it?” asked Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + “I know how,” said Poltinin confidently. “Of course you’d get a trifle + compared with its real value—still we ought to get a half-million + out of it.” + </p> + <p> + This was followed by blasphemous jests. + </p> + <p> + Yakov Poltinin had for some time entertained the secret ambition of + accomplishing something on a grand scale, something that would cause a lot + of talk. It is true the murder of the Chief of Police created a deep + impression. Still, it was hardly as important as the affair he had in + mind. To steal and destroy the miracle-working ikon—that would be + something to crow about! Poltinin said: + </p> + <p> + “The Socialist Revolutionaries are certain to be blamed for it. + Expropriation for party purposes—why not? As for us, no one will + even suspect us.” + </p> + <p> + “The priests will never get over it,” declared Molin, a former instructor, + who was a drunkard and a thief—a jail-bird deprived of his legal + rights. + </p> + <p> + The friends began preparations for the projected theft. Now one of them, + now another, developed the habit of frequenting the monastery. Ostrov + especially received an eager welcome there. He pleased, by his external + piety, the older monks who were in authority. There were a number of + convivial monks who were especially fond of Ostrov. The monks advised him + to join the local union of the Black Hundred. They said that it would be + pleasing to God. They engaged him in religious and patriotic conversations + and invited him to drink with them. + </p> + <p> + Poltinin and Potseluychikov were also well received in the monastery. + </p> + <p> + Strange threads are woven into the relations of people at times. Although + Piotr Matov met Ostrov under unfriendly circumstances, Ostrov managed to + scrape up an acquaintance even with him. It reached a point when Piotr + even agreed to make a journey with Ostrov to the monastery. + </p> + <p> + Glafira Pavlovna Konopatskaya, the rich widow of a general, was an + energetic, power-loving woman, and enjoyed considerable influence in town. + She was a most generous contributor to the various enterprises of the + Black Hundred. Her house served as the meeting-place of the local branch + of this All-Russian organization as well as of another secret society, + which bore the elaborate name of “The Union of Active Combat with + Revolution and Anarchy.” + </p> + <p> + The initiation ceremony of the union was very elaborately exulting. + Especial efforts were made to attract working men. Each new member was + presented with a badge, a Browning revolver, and a little money. + </p> + <p> + The local patriots used to say about Glafira Pavlovna’s house: + </p> + <p> + “Here dwells the Russian spirit, here it smells of Russia!”<a + href="#linknote-21" name="linknoteref-21" id="linknoteref-21"><small>21</small></a> + </p> + <p> + After the meeting it usually smelt of vodka and shag. + </p> + <p> + Some of the working men joined these unions for material reasons, others + from ignorance. The Black Hundred had but a few members from among the + working class by conviction. The Union of Active Combat attracted people + who served now one side, now the other, people like Yakov Poltinin, and + even two or three confirmed revolutionaries. They accepted the Brownings + and handed them over to members of revolutionary organizations. Members of + the union did not find this out until quite late. + </p> + <p> + Kerbakh and Zherbenev were the most frequent guests at Glafira Pavlovna’s + cosy, hospitable house. Evil tongues made slander of this, and associated + her name now with Kerbakh, now with Zherbenev. But this was a calumny. Her + heart had only a place for a young official who served as a private + secretary to the Governor. + </p> + <p> + Once after dinner at Konopatskaya’s, Kerbakh and Zherbenev were telling + Glafira Pavlovna about Ostrov. Kerbakh was the first to broach the + subject: + </p> + <p> + “I have in view a man whom I should like to call to your attention.” + </p> + <p> + “I too know a lively chap,” said Zherbenev. + </p> + <p> + Kerbakh, annoyed at the interruption, looked none too amiably at + Zherbenev, and went on: + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t at all please me at first.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend also did not appeal to me at the beginning,” said Zherbenev, + who would not stay repressed. + </p> + <p> + “To look at him you might think that he’s a cut-throat,” said Kerbakh. + </p> + <p> + “That describes my man too,” announced Zherbenev, as if he were announcing + something gay and pleasant. + </p> + <p> + “But at heart,” went on Kerbakh, “he is an ingenuous infant and an + enthusiastic patriot.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, and mine’s like that too,” chimed in Zherbenev. + </p> + <p> + Glafira Pavlovna smiled graciously at both of them. + </p> + <p> + “Whom are you talking about?” asked Kerbakh at last, rather annoyed at his + companion. + </p> + <p> + Zherbenev replied: + </p> + <p> + “There is a chap here—what’s his name? You remember we met him at + the pier some time ago. He was rather interested in Trirodov.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean Ostrov?” ventured Kerbakh. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the fellow,” said Zherbenev. + </p> + <p> + “I also meant him,” said Kerbakh. + </p> + <p> + “Excellent!” exclaimed Zherbenev. “We seem to agree about him. So you see, + Glafira Pavlovna, we ought to invite him into our union. He would be a + most useful man. Once mention Jews to him and he begins to howl like a dog + on a chain.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course we ought to have him,” decided Glafira Pavlovna. “It is just + such people that we want.” + </p> + <p> + That was how Ostrov came to be admitted into the union. He worked very + zealously on its behalf. + </p> + <p> + One of the chief functions of the Black Hundred was to lodge information + against certain people. They informed the Governor and the head of the + District Schools that Trirodov’s wards had been at the funeral of the + working men killed in the woods. + </p> + <p> + The colony established by Trirodov had for some time been a source of + great annoyance and scandal to the townsfolk. Complaints had been lodged + with the authorities even earlier. Ostrov communicated considerable + information, mostly invented by himself or by the alert townsmen. The head + of the schools sent an order to the Headmaster of the National Schools to + make an investigation. The Governor took other measures. Clouds were + beginning to gather over Trirodov’s colony. + </p> + <p> + The union also made no little effort to arouse the hooligan part of the + population against the Jews and against the <i>intelligentsia</i>. + </p> + <p> + The town was in a state of ferment. The Cossacks often paraded the + streets. The working men eyed them with hostility. Some one spread rumours + about town that preparations were being made for an armed revolt. Trifling + causes led to tragic collisions. + </p> + <p> + One evening the Summer Garden was full of people; they were strolling or + else listening to the music and to the songs in the open-air theatre. The + evening was quiet and the sky still red. Just outside the rail-fence the + dust was flying before the wind, and settled now on the pointed leaves of + the acacia-trees, now on the small, light purple flowers near the road. + </p> + <p> + There was a rose-red glow in the sky; the road stretched towards it; and + the grey of the dust mingling with the red glow produced a play of colour + very agreeable to the eye. + </p> + <p> + A red giant genie broke his vessel with its Solomon’s seal, freed himself, + and stood on the edge of the town; he laughed soundlessly yet repugnantly. + His breath was like the smoky breath of a forest fire. But he made + sentimental grimaces, tore white petals from gigantic marguerites, and + whispered in a hoarse voice which stirred the blood of the young: + </p> + <p> + “He loves me—he loves me not; he will cut me up—he will hang + me.” + </p> + <p> + But the people did not see him. They were looking at the sky and saying: + </p> + <p> + “How superb! I love nature! And do you love nature?” + </p> + <p> + Others looked on indifferently and thought that it did not matter. The + lovers of nature bragged before these because they admired the splendid + sunset and were able to enjoy nature. They said to the others: + </p> + <p> + “You, old chap, are a dry stick. I suppose you’d rather go to a stuffy + room and play cards.” + </p> + <p> + The promenaders strolled on, crowding and jostling each other; they were + flaunting their gaiety. There was a cheerful hum, and young girls, amused + by schoolboys and officials, giggled. Grey devilkins mingled with the + crowd, and when the little jokers-pokers hopped on the girls’ shoulders + and poked their shaggy and ticklish little paws into the corsage under the + chemise the girls raised piercing screams. They were dressed prettily and + lightly, in holiday order. Their high breasts outlined under their + coloured textures taunted the youths. + </p> + <p> + An officer of the Cossacks was among those on the promenade. He had had a + drop too much, which made his face red. He was in a gay mood, and he began + to boast: + </p> + <p> + “We’ll cut their heads off, yes, of all of them!” + </p> + <p> + The petty tradesmen treated him to drinks, embraced him, and said to him: + </p> + <p> + “Cut their throats. Do us the favour. Make a good job of it. It will serve + these anathemas right too! As for the women and the girls, give them a + hiding—the hotter the better.” + </p> + <p> + There was a continuous change of amusements, each noisier and duller than + the one before. Now in the theatre, now in the open, they played a stupid + but obscene vaudeville piece, and vicious topical songs were sung (a + thunder of applause); an animated chansonnette-singer screeched and pulled + about with her naked, excessively whitened shoulders, and winked with her + exaggeratedly painted eyes; a woman acrobat, raising her legs, attired in + pink tights, above her head, was dancing on her hands. + </p> + <p> + Everything was as if the town were not under guard and as if the Cossacks + were not riding about in the streets. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly some one in the depth of the garden raised a cry. + </p> + <p> + A frightful confusion spread among the crowd. Many darted impetuously + towards the exit. Others jumped over the fence. Suddenly the crowd, with + frenzied cries, came sweeping in retreat from the exits back into the + depth of the garden. + </p> + <p> + Cossacks darted in from somewhere and, crying savagely, made their way + along the garden paths. Their sudden appearance gave the impression that + they were waiting somewhere near by for the command. Their knouts began to + work rapidly. The thin textures upon the girls’ shoulders were rent apart + and delicate bodies were unbared, and beautiful blue-and-red spots showed + themselves on the white-pink skin like quickly ripened flowers. Drops of + blood, large like bilberries, splattered into the air, which had already + quenched its thirst on the evening coolness, on the odour of the foliage + and the aroma of artificial scents. Delicately shrill, loud sobs were the + accompaniment to the dull, flat lashings of whips across the bodies. + </p> + <p> + They threw themselves this way and that way, they ran where they could. + Several were caught—ragged young men and girls with short hair. Two + or three of the girls were caught and beaten in error: they were from the + most peaceful, even respected, families in town. These were afterwards + permitted to go free. + </p> + <p> + The hooligans were making merry in a dirty, ill-smelling beerhouse. They + were celebrating something or another, were jingling their money, + discussing future earnings, and laughing uproariously. One table was + especially absorbed in its noisy gaiety. There sat the celebrated + town-rowdy Nil Krasavtsev with three of his friends. They drank, and sang + hooligan songs, then paid their bill and went out. One could hear their + savage outbursts: + </p> + <p> + “The Jew dogs are rebels, they are against the Tsar.” + </p> + <p> + “The Jews want to get hold of everything for themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t be a bad thing to cut up a Jewess!” + </p> + <p> + “The Jews want to take over the whole earth.” + </p> + <p> + It had grown dark. The hooligans went into the main street, the Sretenka. + It was very quiet, and only a few passers-by were to be met with; people + stood here and there at their gates and talked. A Jewish widow sat at the + gate of a house and chatted with her neighbour, a Jewish tailor. Her + children, a whole throng of them, one smaller than the other, played about + here, deeply wrapt in their own affairs. + </p> + <p> + Nil walked up to the Jewess and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “You dog of a Jew, pray to God for the orthodox Tsar!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want of me?” cried the Jewess. “I’m not touching you; you had + better go away!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you say?” shouted the hooligan. + </p> + <p> + A broad knife was lifted in the darkness and, gleaming, came down in a + swoop, piercing the old woman. She gave a quick, shrill cry—and fell + back dead. The Jew, terrified, ran away, filling the night air with his + piteous wails. The children began to whimper. The hooligans marched off, + laughing uproariously. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <p> + Midday. It was quiet, innocent, and fresh in the depth of the wood, at the + edge of the hollow—and the outer heat penetrated hither only by an + infinite coiling as of a scaly serpent impotent at last and deprived of + its poison. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov had found this place for himself and Elisaveta. More than once + they came here together—to read, to talk, and to sit a while at the + moss-covered stone, out of which, like a strange corporeal ghost, grew up + all awry a slender quaking ash. Elisaveta, dressed in her simple short + skirt, her long sunburnt arms and part of her legs showing, seemed so + tall, so erect, and so graceful at this moss-covered stone. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta was reading aloud—poems! How golden her voice sounded with + its seductive, sun-like sonorousness! Trirodov listened with a slightly + ironical smile to these familiar, infinitely deep and lovely words, so + seemingly meaningless in life. When she finished Trirodov said: + </p> + <p> + “A man’s whole life is barely enough to think out a single idea properly.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to say that each should choose for himself but a single idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. If people could but grasp this fact human knowledge would take an + unprecedented step forward. But we are afraid to venture.” + </p> + <p> + And coarse life already hovered near them behind their backs, and was + about to intrude upon them. Elisaveta gave a sudden faint outcry at the + unexpectedness of an unseemly apparition. A dirty, rough-looking man, all + in tatters, was almost upon them; he had approached them upon the mossy + ground as softly as a wood fairy. He stretched out a dirty, horny hand, + and asked, not at all in a begging voice: + </p> + <p> + “Give a hungry man something to buy bread with.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov frowned in annoyance, and without looking at the beggar took a + silver coin out of the pocket of his waistcoat. He always kept a trifle + about him to provide for unexpected meetings. The ragged one smiled, + turned the coin, threw it upward, caught it, and hid it adroitly in his + pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I thank your illustrious Honour most humbly,” he said. “May God give you + good health, a rich wife, and assured success. Only I want to say + something to you.” + </p> + <p> + He grew silent, and assumed a grave, important air. Trirodov frowned even + more intensely than before, and asked stiffly: + </p> + <p> + “What is it you wish to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + The ragged one said with frank derision in his voice: + </p> + <p> + “It’s this. You were reading a book, my good people, but not the right + one.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed a pathetic, insolent laugh. It was as if a timorous dog + suddenly began to whine hoarsely, insolently, and cautiously. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov asked again in astonishment: + </p> + <p> + “Not the right one, why not?” + </p> + <p> + The ragged one began to speak with awkward gestures, and he gave the + impression that he was able to speak well and eloquently, and that he + merely assumed his stupid, unpolished manner of speaking. + </p> + <p> + “I had been listening to you a long time. I was behind the bush there. I + was asleep, I must confess—then you came—chattered away, and + waked me. The young lady read well. Clearly and sympathetically. One could + see at once that it was from the heart. Only I don’t like the contents, + and all that’s in this book.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you like it?” asked Elisaveta quietly. + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion,” said the ragged one, “it isn’t your style. It doesn’t fit + you somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of book ought we to read?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + She gave a light, forced smile. The ragged one sat down on a near-by + stump, and answered in no undue haste: + </p> + <p> + “I am not thinking of you alone, honourable folk, but of all those who + parade in fancy gaiters and in velvet dresses, and look scornfully at our + brothers.” + </p> + <p> + “What book?” again asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the gospels that you ought to read,” he replied, as he looked + attentively and austerely at Elisaveta, his glance taking in her entire + figure from her flushed face down to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Why the gospels?” asked Trirodov, who suddenly grew morose. He appeared + to be pondering over something, and unable to decide; his indecision + seemed to torment him. + </p> + <p> + The ragged one replied slowly: + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you why; you’ll find the true facts there. We will take it + easy in paradise, while the devils will be pulling the veins out of you in + hell. And we shall look on coolly, and applaud gaily with our hands. It + ought to prove entertaining.” + </p> + <p> + He burst out into loud, hoarse laughter—but it seemed more assumed + than joyous, and rather abject and hideous. Elisaveta shivered. + </p> + <p> + “What a wicked person you are! Why do you think that?” said Elisaveta + reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + The ragged one glanced at her crossly, and looked fixedly into her deep + blue eyes; then he said with a broad smile: + </p> + <p> + “Why am I wicked? And are you two good? Wicked or not, the thing is to be + just. But I may tell you, sir, that I like you,” he said as he turned + suddenly to Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for your good opinion,” said Trirodov with a slightly ironical + smile, “but why should you like me?” + </p> + <p> + He looked attentively at the ragged one. Then suddenly he felt depressed + and apprehensive, and he lowered his eyes. The other slowly lit his + foul-smelling pipe, stretched himself, and began after a brief silence: + </p> + <p> + “Other gentlemen’s mugs are mostly gay, as if they had gorged themselves + on a pancake with cream, or had successfully forged their uncle’s will. + But you, sir, seem to have the same lean mug always. I have been observing + you some time now. It’s evident that you have something on your soul. At + least a capital crime.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov was silent. He lifted himself on his elbow and looked straight + into the man’s eyes with such a fixed, strange expression in his + unblinking, commanding, wilful eyes. + </p> + <p> + The ragged one grew silent, as if he had been congealed for a moment. + Then, as if frightened, he suddenly shook himself. He shrank and stooped, + and as he took his cap off he revealed an unkempt, tousled head of hair; + he mumbled something, slipped away among the bushes, and disappeared + quietly—like a fairy of the wood. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov looked gloomily after him—and was silent. Elisaveta thought + that he deliberately avoided looking at her. She was intensely + embarrassed, but made an effort to control herself. She laughed, and said + with assumed gaiety: + </p> + <p> + “What a strange creature!” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov turned upon her his melancholy glances and said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “He talks like one who knows. He talks like one who sees. But no one can + know what happened.” + </p> + <p> + Oh, if one could only know! If one could only change that which once had + happened! + </p> + <p> + Trirodov recalled again during these days the dark history of Piotr + Matov’s father. Trirodov had carelessly entangled himself in this affair, + and now it compelled him to have dealings with the blackmailer Ostrov. + </p> + <p> + Piotr’s father, Dmitry Matov, had fallen into a trap which he had set for + others. He had joined a secret revolutionary circle. There they soon + discovered his relations with the police, and they decided to detect him + and kill him. + </p> + <p> + One of the members of the circle, the young physician Lunitsin, took the + role of betrayer upon himself. He promised to obtain for Dmitry Matov + important documents involving many of the members. They made a bargain at + a moderate figure. The meeting at which the documents were to be exchanged + for the money was designated to take place in a small borough close to the + town in which Trirodov then lived. + </p> + <p> + At the appointed hour Dmitry Matov got out of his train at a little + station. It was late in the evening. Matov wore blue spectacles and a + false beard, as was agreed upon. Lunitsin waited for him a few yards from + the station, and led him to a very solitary spot where was situated the + house hired for the purpose. + </p> + <p> + A supper had been prepared there. Matov ate heartily and drank much wine. + His companion began to invent stories about certain suspicious movements + he had heard of lately. Little by little Matov grew candid, and began to + boast of his connexions with the police, and of the great number of people + he had skilfully betrayed. + </p> + <p> + The door leading to the next room was hung with draperies. Three people + were hiding in that room—Trirodov, Ostrov, and the young working man + Krovlin. They were listening. Krovlin was intensely excited. He kept on + repeating in indignant whispers: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the scoundrel! The wretch!” + </p> + <p> + Ostrov and Trirodov managed to restrain him with great difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “Be silent. Let him babble out everything,” they said to him. + </p> + <p> + At last Matov’s impudent boastfulness was too much for Krovlin, who jumped + out from his hiding-place, and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “So that’s how it is! You’ve betrayed our men to the police! And you have + the face to confess it!” + </p> + <p> + Dmitry Matov grew green with fear. He shouted to his companion: + </p> + <p> + “Kill him! He has been listening to us! Shoot quick! He mustn’t live. He + will give us both up!” + </p> + <p> + At this moment two other men appeared from the same place. Lunitsin aimed + his revolver straight at Matov’s forehead, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Who ought to be killed, traitor?” + </p> + <p> + Matov then understood that he had been caught in a trap. But he still made + efforts to wriggle out of it, and called all his skill and his insolence + to his assistance. They tried him for treachery. At first he defended + himself. He said that he had deceived the police, and that he had entered + into relations with them merely to get important information for his + comrades. But his protestations soon grew weaker. Then he began to beg for + mercy. He spoke of his wife and of his children. + </p> + <p> + Matov’s entreaties failed to impress any one. His judges were adamant. His + fate was decided. The sentence of hanging was passed unanimously. + </p> + <p> + Matov was bound. The noose was already thrown about his neck. Then + Trirodov intervened: + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do with him? It will be difficult to take him away, + and it is dangerous to leave him here.” + </p> + <p> + “Who will come here?” said Lunitsin. “At best only by chance. Let him hang + here until he’s found.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us bury him here in the garden, like a dog,” suggested Krovlin. + </p> + <p> + “Give him to me,” said Trirodov. “I will dispose his body in such a way + that no one will find it.” + </p> + <p> + The others assented eagerly. Ostrov said with a scornful smile: + </p> + <p> + “Will you try your chemistry on him, Giorgiy Sergeyevitch? Well, it’s all + the same to us. A bad man ought to be punished—make even a skeleton + of him for your use if you like.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov drew a flagon containing a colourless liquid from his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Now this will put him to sleep,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He injected with a small syringe several drops of the liquid under Dmitry + Matov’s skin. Matov gave a feeble cry and fell heavily to the floor. In a + few moments the body lay before them, blue and apparently lifeless. + Lunitsin examined Matov and said: + </p> + <p> + “He’s done for.” + </p> + <p> + The men left one by one. Trirodov alone remained with Matov’s body. + Trirodov took off Matov’s clothes and burned them in the stove. He made + several more injections of the same colourless liquid. + </p> + <p> + The night passed slowly. Trirodov lay on the sofa without taking his + clothes off. He slept badly, tormented by oppressive dreams. He awoke + several times. + </p> + <p> + Dmitry Matov lay in the next room on the floor. The liquid, injected into + his blood, acted strangely. The body contracted in proper proportion, and + wasted very quickly. Within several hours it lost more than half of its + weight, and assumed very small dimensions; it became very soft and pliant. + But all its proportions were faithfully preserved. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov made up the body into a large parcel, covered it over with plaid, + and bound it with straps. It resembled a pillow wrapped up in plaid. + Trirodov left by the morning train for home, carrying with him Dmitry + Matov’s body. + </p> + <p> + At home Trirodov put the body into a vessel containing a greenish liquid + compounded by himself. Matov’s body shrunk in it even more. It had become + barely more than seven inches long. But as before all its proportions + remained inviolate. + </p> + <p> + Then Trirodov prepared a special plastic substance, in which he wrapped + Matov’s body. He pressed it compactly into the form of a cube, and placed + it on his writing-table. And thus a thing that once had been a man + remained there a thing among other things. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless Trirodov was right when he told Ostrov that Matov had not + been killed. Yes, notwithstanding his strange form and his distressing + immobility, Dmitry Matov was not dead. The potentiality of life slept + dormant in that solid object. Trirodov thought more than once as to + whether the time had not come to rehabilitate Matov and return him to the + world of the living. + </p> + <p> + He had not decided upon this before. But he was confident that he would + succeed in doing this without hindrance. The process of rehabilitation + required a tranquil and isolated place. + </p> + <p> + In a little more than a year at the beginning of the summer Trirodov + decided to begin the process of rehabilitation. He prepared a large vat + over six feet in length. He filled it with a colourless liquid, and + lowered into it the cube containing Matov’s body. + </p> + <p> + The slow process of rehabilitation began. Unperceived by the eye, the cube + began to thaw and to swell. It needed a half-year before it would thaw out + sufficiently to permit the body to peer through. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <p> + Sonya Svetilovitch was badly shaken by the hard, cruel events of that + night in the woods. She fell ill, and remained two weeks in an unconscious + state. It was feared that she would die. But she was a strong girl and + conquered her illness. + </p> + <p> + Scenes from that nightmarish occasion passed before the poor girl in her + heavy delirium. Grey, ferocious demons, with dim, tinny eyes, came to her, + taunted her, and acted without reason. There was no place in which to hide + from the hideous frenzy. + </p> + <p> + Deep oppression reigned in the Svetilovitch house. Sonya’s mother wept, + and bewailed her lot. Sonya’s father spoke of the matter warmly and + eloquently, with gesticulations, to his friends in his study—and + inevitably got into a state of indignation. Sonya’s little brothers + discussed plans of vengeance. Fräulein Berta, the governess of Sonya’s + younger sister, made censorious remarks about barbarous Russia. + </p> + <p> + All the acquaintances of the Svetilovitches were also indignant. But their + indignation assumed only platonic forms. Perhaps it was impossible for it + to have been otherwise. To be sure, all the more or less independent + people in town paid the Svetilovitches visits of sympathy. Even the + liberal Inspector of Taxes came. He was a patient of Doctor + Svetilovitch’s, and came during the reception hour to express his + interest; incidentally he asked advice about his physical indispositions + and paid no fee—in view of its being a visit of sympathy. + </p> + <p> + Sonya’s father, Doctor Sergey Lvovitch Svetilovitch, was a member of the + Constitutional Democratic Party; among his own he was regarded as + belonging to the extreme left wing. Like his friend Rameyev, who was a + Cadet of more moderate views, he was a member of the local committee. + </p> + <p> + Doctor Svetilovitch thought he ought to protest against the improper + actions of the police. He lodged complaints with the Governor and the + District Attorney, and wrote circumstantial petitions to both—his + chief concern being that no offending expression of any sort should enter + into them. + </p> + <p> + Doctor Svetilovitch was an extremely correct and loyal man. Other people + around him, if placed in unusual circumstances, might lose their presence + of mind and forget their principles; others around him, friends or + enemies, might act incorrectly and illegally; but Doctor Svetilovitch + always remained faithful to himself. No circumstance, no earthly or + heavenly power, could swerve him from the path which he acknowledged as + the only true one, in so far as it conformed to Constitutional Democratic + principles. The problem of expedience of conduct concerned Doctor + Svetilovitch but little. The important thing was to be correct in + principle. He always placed, however, the responsibility for the result + this procedure achieved upon the shoulders of those who wished to follow + along other lines. That was why Doctor Svetilovitch enjoyed extraordinary + respect in his own party. Great weight was attached to his opinions, and + in the matter of tactics his declarations were indisputable. + </p> + <p> + Several days after Doctor Svetilovitch presented his petition he had a + call from an inspector of the police, who handed him, with a request for a + receipt, a grey, rough paper impressed at the upper left-hand corner with + the stamp of the Skorodozh governing authorities, together with a packet + from the District Attorney. This last contained a white solid-looking page + of foolscap folded in four, handsomely engraved with the District + Attorney’s seal. Both the grey rough paper and the solid-looking page of + foolscap contained approximately in the same words the answers to the + complaints of Doctor Svetilovitch. These informed Doctor Svetilovitch that + a very careful investigation had been made in connexion with his + complaints; in conclusion, it was affirmed that Doctor Svetilovitch’s + evidence as to the illegal actions of the police, and as to the subjection + of the girls caught in the woods to blows, was not borne out by facts. + </p> + <p> + At last Sonya began to improve. The members of the family and + acquaintances tried not to recall the sad incident of that night before + Sonya. Only indifferent and pleasant matters were mentioned in the poor + girl’s presence in order to divert her. A number of visitors were invited + one evening for this purpose. Some were asked by letter, others by Doctor + Svetilovitch in person. He visited the Rameyevs and Trirodov in his + carriage, which was harnessed to a pair of stout ponies. + </p> + <p> + In inviting Trirodov, Doctor Svetilovitch asked him to read something from + his own work at the gathering, something that would not make Sonya + unpleasantly reminiscent. Trirodov agreed to this quite heartily, although + he usually avoided reading his own work anywhere. + </p> + <p> + As Trirodov was preparing to leave his house that evening and was putting + on a coloured tie, Kirsha said to him with his usual gravity: + </p> + <p> + “I should not go to the Svetilovitches’ to-night if I were you. It would + be much wiser to remain at home.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov, not all astonished by this unexpected advice, smiled and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t I go?” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha held his father’s hand and said sadly: + </p> + <p> + “There have been many detectives of late poking their noses about here. + What can they want here? It’s almost certain they will make a search of + Svetilovitch’s house to-night—I have a presentiment.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s nothing,” said Trirodov with a smile, “we have got used to + everything. But, dear Kirsha, you are very inquisitive—you look in + everywhere, even where you shouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “My eyes see, and my ears hear,” replied Kirsha, “is that my fault?” + </p> + <p> + In the pleasant, well-appointed drawing-room of the Svetilovitches, in the + lifeless light of three electric globes with lustrous bronze fittings, the + green-blue upholsterings of the Empire furniture seemed illusively + beautiful. The dark curves of the grand piano were gleaming. Albums were + lying on a little table under the leaves of a palm. The portrait of an old + man with a long, white moustache smiled down youthfully and cheerfully + from its place on the wall above the sofa. The visitors gathered in the + midst of these attractive surroundings, as if there were nothing to mar + them. They spoke a great deal, with much heat and eloquence. + </p> + <p> + Most of the visitors were local Cadets. Among those present were three + physicians, one engineer, two legal advocates, the editor of a local + progressive newspaper, a justice of the peace, a notary, three gymnasia + instructors, and a priest. Nearly all came accompanied by women and girls. + There were also several students, college girls, and grownup schoolboys + from the higher gymnasia classes. + </p> + <p> + The young priest, Nikolai Matveyevitch Zakrasin, who sympathized with the + Cadets, gave lessons in Trirodov’s school. He was considered a great + freethinker among his colleagues, the priests. The town clergy looked + askance at him. And the Diocesan Bishop was not well disposed towards him. + </p> + <p> + Father Zakrasin had completed a course in the ecclesiastical academy. He + spoke rather well, wrote something, and collaborated not only in religious + but also in worldly periodicals. He had wavy, dense, not over-long hair. + His grey eyes smiled amiably and cheerfully. His priestly attire always + appeared new and neat. His manners were restrained and gentle. He did not + at all resemble the average Russian priest; Father Zakrasin seemed more + like a Catholic prelate who had let his beard grow and had put on a golden + pectoral cross. Father Zakrasin’s house was bright, neat, and cheerful. + The walls were decorated with engravings, scenes from sacred history. His + study contained several cases of books. It was evident from their + selection that Father Zakrasin’s interests were very broad. In general he + liked that which was certain, convincing, and rational. + </p> + <p> + His wife, Susanna Kirillovna, a good-looking, plump, and calm woman, who + was wholly convinced of the justice of the Cadets’ cause, was now sitting + quietly on the sofa in the Svetilovitch drawing-room, and expounding + truths. Notwithstanding her Constitutional Democratic convictions, she was + a real priest’s spouse, a housewifely, loquacious, timorous creature. + </p> + <p> + Priest Zakrasin’s sister, Irina Matveyevna, or Irinushka as every one + called her, was a parish-school girl who had been won over to the cause by + the priest’s wife; she was young, rosy, and slender, and greatly resembled + her brother. She got excited so often and so intensely that she constantly + had to be appeased by the elders, who regarded her youthful impetuosity + with benevolent amusement. + </p> + <p> + Rameyev was there with both his daughters, the Matov brothers, and Miss + Harrison. Trirodov was there also. + </p> + <p> + There was almost a spirit of gaiety. They talked on various subjects—on + politics, on literature, on local matters, etc. Sonya’s mother sat in the + drawing-room and discussed women’s rights and the works of Knut Hamsun. + Sonya’s mother liked this writer intensely, and loved to tell about her + meeting with him abroad. There was an autographed portrait of Knut Hamsun + upon her table and it was the object of much pride for the whole + Svetilovitch family. + </p> + <p> + At the tea-table in the small neighbouring room, which was called the + “buffet,” Sonya—surrounded by young people—was pouring out + tea. In Doctor Svetilovitch’s study they spoke of the recent unrest in + near-by villages. There were incendiary fires on various estates and farms + belonging to the landed gentry. There were several cases in which the + bread granaries belonging to certain hoarders were broken into. + </p> + <p> + Sonya’s mother was asked to play something. She refused a long time, but + finally, with evident pleasure, went to the grand piano, and played a + selection from Grieg. Then the notary took his turn at the instrument. + Irinushka, blushing furiously, sang with much expression the new popular + song to his accompaniment: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Once I loved a learned student, + I admit I wasn’t prudent; + On the day I married him + The village feasted to the brim. + + Vodka every one was drinking, + All were doing loud thinking— + How to make the masters toil, + And amongst us share their soil. + + Suddenly there came a copper + Right into our hut a-flopper! + “I’ll send you both to Sakhalin<a href="#linknote-22" name="linknoteref-22" + id="linknoteref-22">22</a> + For raising this rebellious din.” + + “Well, my dear one, quick, get ready, + Mind that you walk ‘long there steady, + For your charming words, my sweet, + A gaol is waiting you to greet.” + + Do you think I was agitated? + No, not me—I was most elated. + Then the muzhiks stepped right in + And chucked him out on the green.</i> +</pre> + <p> + This song was an illustration appropriate to the discussions on village + tendencies. It achieved a great success. Irinushka was profusely praised + and thanked for it. Irinushka blushed, and regretted that she knew no + other songs of the same kind. + </p> + <p> + Then Trirodov read his story of a beautiful and exultant love. He read + simply and calmly, not as actors read. He finished reading and in the cold + polite praises he felt how remote he was from all these people. Once more, + as it frequently had happened before, there stirred in his soul the + thought: “Why do I come to see these people?” + </p> + <p> + “There is so little in common between them and me,” thought Trirodov. Only + Elisaveta’s smile and word consoled him. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards there was dancing—then card-playing. It was as always, as + everywhere. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <p> + No one else was expected. The dining-room table was being set for supper. + Suddenly there was a loud, violent bell-ring. The housemaid ran quickly to + answer it. Some one in the drawing-room remarked in astonishment: + </p> + <p> + “A rather late visitor.” + </p> + <p> + Every one suddenly felt depressed for some reason. There was an air of + ominous expectancy. Were robbers about to break in? Was it a telegram + containing an unpleasant announcement? Or would some one come in panting + and exhausted and divulge a piece of terrible news? But the words they + addressed to each other were of quite a different nature. + </p> + <p> + “But who can it be at such a late hour?” said one woman to another. + </p> + <p> + “Who else can it be but Piotr Ivanitch!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s so; he likes coming late.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember—once at the Taranovs?” + </p> + <p> + Piotr Ivanitch, approaching at that moment, overheard the remark. + </p> + <p> + “You are unfair to me, Marya Ivanovna! I’ve been here a long time,” said + he. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, but who, then, can it be?” said Marya Ivanovna in confusion. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll soon know. Let’s take a look.” + </p> + <p> + The inquisitive engineer put his head out into the hall and stumbled upon + some one in a grey uniform who was walking impetuously towards the + drawing-room. Some one whispered in suppressed horror: + </p> + <p> + “The police!” + </p> + <p> + When the maid, in response to the ring, opened the door, several men filed + into the hall, awkwardly jostling one another—house-porters,<a + href="#linknote-23" name="linknoteref-23" id="linknoteref-23"><small>23</small></a> + gendarmes, detectives, an Inspector of the police, an officer of the + gendarmerie, two petty constables. The maid stood speechless with fright. + The police inspector shouted at her: + </p> + <p> + “Get back to the kitchen!” + </p> + <p> + A detachment of policemen and porters remained outside under the command + of the Inspector of the constabulary. They watched to see that no one + entered or left the Svetilovitch house. + </p> + <p> + Altogether about twenty policemen entered the house. For some unknown + reason they were armed with rifles with fixed bayonets. Three + hideous-looking men in civilian clothes kept close to the policemen. These + were the detectives. Two policemen stationed themselves at the entrance, + two others ran to the telephone, which was attached to a wall in the hall. + It was evident that everything had been arranged beforehand by a manager + expert in such matters. The rest of the men tumbled into the drawing-room. + The Inspector of the police stretched his neck and, assuming a tense red + expression and bulging his eyes, shouted very loudly. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t any one dare to move from his place!” + </p> + <p> + And he looked round in self-satisfaction at the officer of the + gendarmerie. + </p> + <p> + The men and the women remained transfixed in their places, as if they were + acting a tableau. They were looking silently at the new-comers. + </p> + <p> + The policemen, awkwardly holding their rifles, tramped with their + ponderous boots on the parquet-floor and made their way about the rooms. + They paused at all the doors, looked at the visitors timorously and + savagely, uneasily pressed the barrels of their rifles, and tried to look + like real soldiers. It was evident that these zealous people were ready to + fire at any one whomsoever at the first suspicious movement: they thought + that a band of conspirators had gathered here. + </p> + <p> + All the rooms were overrun with these strangers. It began to smell of bad + tobacco, sweat, and vodka. Many of them drank to keep their courage up: + they were afraid of a possible armed resistance. + </p> + <p> + A gendarme placed his Colonel’s voluminous portfolio on the grand piano in + the drawing-room. The Colonel, stepping forward to the middle of the room, + so that the light of the centre cluster of lamps fell almost directly upon + his bald forehead and upon his bushy, sandy-haired moustache, pronounced + in an official tone: + </p> + <p> + “Where’s the master of this house?” + </p> + <p> + He made a determined effort to give the impression that he did not know + Doctor Svetilovitch or the others. Actually he knew nearly all of them + personally. Doctor Svetilovitch walked up to him. + </p> + <p> + “I am the master of this house. I am Doctor Svetilovitch,” he said in a no + less official tone. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel in the blue uniform then announced: + </p> + <p> + “M. Svetilovitch, it is my duty to make a search of your house.” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Svetilovitch asked: + </p> + <p> + “Under whose authority are you doing this? And where is your warrant for + carrying out the search?” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel of the gendarmerie turned towards the piano and rummaged in + his portfolio, but produced nothing. He said: + </p> + <p> + “I assure you I have an order. If you have any doubts you can call up on + the telephone.” + </p> + <p> + Then the Colonel turned to the Inspector of the police and said: + </p> + <p> + “Please collect them all in one room.” + </p> + <p> + All, except Doctor Svetilovitch, were compelled to go into the + dining-room, which now became crowded and uncomfortable. Armed constables + were placed at both doors—the one entering the hall and the other + the dining-room—as well as in all the corners. Their faces were + dull, and their guns seemed unnecessary and absurd in these peaceful + surroundings—but then the guests felt even more uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + A detective looked out from time to time from the drawing-room door. He + looked searchingly into the faces. The look he had on his disagreeable + face with its white eyebrows and eyelashes gave the impression that he was + sniffing the air. + </p> + <p> + In the drawing-room the Colonel of the gendarmerie was saying to Doctor + Svetilovitch: + </p> + <p> + “And now, M. Svetilovitch, will you be so good as to tell me with what + object you have arranged this gathering?” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Svetilovitch replied with an ironic smile: + </p> + <p> + “With the object of dancing and dining, nothing more. You can see for + yourself that we are all peaceable folk.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the Colonel in an authoritative, rude tone. “Are the + names and families of all gathered here with the object you state known to + you?” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Svetilovitch shrugged his shoulders in astonishment and replied: + </p> + <p> + “Of course they are known to me! Why shouldn’t I know my own guests? I + believe you know many of them yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Be so good,” requested the Colonel, “as to give me the names of all your + guests.” + </p> + <p> + He produced a sheet of paper from his portfolio and placed it on the + piano. The Colonel wrote the names down as Doctor Svetilovitch gave them. + When the doctor stopped short the Colonel asked laconically: + </p> + <p> + “All?” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Svetilovitch answered as briefly: + </p> + <p> + “All.” + </p> + <p> + “Show us into your study,” said the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + They went into the study and rummaged among everything there. They turned + over all the books and disarranged the writing-table. They looked through + the letters. The Colonel demanded: + </p> + <p> + “Open the bookcases, the bureau drawers.” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Svetilovitch answered: “The keys, as you see, are in their places + in the locks.” + </p> + <p> + He put his hands into his pockets and stood by the window. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be good enough to open them?” said the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t do this,” replied Doctor Svetilovitch. “I do not consider it + obligatory to help you in your searches.” + </p> + <p> + Pride filled his Cadet’s soul. He felt that he was behaving correctly and + valiantly. What was the consequence? The uninvited guests opened + everything themselves and rummaged where they pleased. A constable put + aside all those books which looked suspicious. Several of these books had + been published in Russia quite openly and sold no less openly. They took + several books wholly innocent in their contents, simply because they + thought they detected a rebellious note in their titles. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel of the gendarmerie announced: + </p> + <p> + “We will take the correspondence and the manuscripts with us.” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Svetilovitch said in vexation: + </p> + <p> + “I assure you there’s nothing criminal there. The manuscripts are very + necessary to my work.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll have a look at them,” said the Colonel dryly. “Don’t be concerned + about them, they will be kept in safety.” + </p> + <p> + Then they rummaged the other rooms. They searched the beds to see if there + were any concealed fire-arms. + </p> + <p> + When he returned into the study the Colonel of the gendarmerie said to + Doctor Svetilovitch: + </p> + <p> + “Well, try and see if you can find the papers of the strike committee.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no such papers,” replied Doctor Svetilovitch. + </p> + <p> + “S-so! Now,” said the Colonel very significantly, “tell us frankly where + you keep the weapons concealed.” + </p> + <p> + “What weapons?” asked Doctor Svetilovitch in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel replied with an ironic smile: + </p> + <p> + “Any sort that you may have about—revolvers, bombs, or + machine-guns.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t any kind of weapons,” said Doctor Svetilovitch with an amused + laugh. “I haven’t even a gun for hunting. What kind of weapon can I + possibly have?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll have a look!” said the Colonel in a meaningful voice. + </p> + <p> + They turned the whole house upside down. Of course they found no weapons + of any kind. + </p> + <p> + While all this was going on Trirodov was reading in the dining-room his + own verses and some which were not his. The constables listened in a dull + way. They did not understand anything, but waited patiently to see if any + rebellious words were mentioned, but their waiting remained unrewarded. + </p> + <p> + The Inspector of the police then entered the dining-room. Every one looked + guardedly at him. He said solemnly, as if he were announcing the beginning + of an important and useful work: + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, now we must subject all those present to a personal + examination. One at a time, please. Suppose we begin with you,” said he, + turning to the engineer. + </p> + <p> + The face of the Inspector of the police expressed a consciousness of his + personal dignity. His movements were sure and significant. It was evident + that he not only was not ashamed of what he was saying and doing, but that + he had not the slightest comprehension that there was anything in this to + be ashamed of. The engineer, a young and handsome man, shrugged his + shoulders, smiled contemptuously and went into the study, being directed + there by an awkward motion of the red-palmed paw of the Commissary of the + rural police. + </p> + <p> + The priest’s wife found herself an arm-chair in the dining-room, but she + was not any more comfortable in it. Terrified in her arm-chair, she + trembled like jelly. With pale lips she whispered to the parish-school + girl she had won over to the cause: + </p> + <p> + “Irinushka, dearest, think of it—they are going to search us!” + </p> + <p> + The parish-school girl, Irinushka, looking slender, fresh, and red, like a + newly washed carrot, moved her ears in her fright—a faculty which + her companions envied her intensely—and whispered something to the + priest’s wife. + </p> + <p> + The constable looked savagely at the priest’s wife and at the + parish-school girl, and cried out in a shrill, somewhat hoarse voice, + which resembled the crowing of a cock: + </p> + <p> + “I must very humbly ask you not to whisper.” + </p> + <p> + The constables with the guns pricked up their ears. Their sudden zeal made + them perspire. The priest’s wife and the parish-school girl almost fainted + from fright, but the girl at once recovered herself and began to get + angry; she was now even more angry than she had been frightened a little + while ago. Small tears gleamed in her eyes; small drops of perspiration + appeared on her cheeks and on her forehead. The angry girl’s face grew + even redder, so that now she resembled no longer a carrot but a wet + beetroot. The only person in the room to be refreshingly and youthfully + indignant, and all aflame with a deep anger, she looked truly beautiful in + her ingenuous exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “Here is something new!” she cried. “Whispering is forbidden! Are you + afraid that we will say something against you, that we will hurt you?” + </p> + <p> + At this moment all the Cadets and their wives and daughters, who were + sitting around the table and against the walls, turned their horrified + faces at the parish-school girl, and all together hissed at her. They + would have laid hands on her, some one would have gagged her mouth—but + not one of them dared to make a move. They sat motionless, looked at the + parish-school girl with eyes dilated with fear, and hissed. + </p> + <p> + The parish-school girl, overcome with fright, grew silent. Only the + hissing could be heard in the dining-room. Even the constables began to + smile at the friendly hissing of the Cadets of both sexes. + </p> + <p> + When they had finished hissing, Irinushka said almost tranquilly: + </p> + <p> + “We didn’t whisper anything criminal. I only said about you, Mr. + Constable, that you were fascinatingly handsome with your dark hair.” + </p> + <p> + When she saw that the Rameyev sisters were laughing, Irinushka turned to + Elisaveta: + </p> + <p> + “You do agree with me, Vetochka, that the constable is a fascinatingly + handsome man?” + </p> + <p> + The constable flushed. He was not sure whether the blushing girl was + laughing at him or in earnest. In any case he frowned, vigorously twirled + his dark moustache, and exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “I must humbly ask you not to express yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Later, at home, Irinushka was scolded for her behaviour, regarded as + untactful by Priest Zakrasin. The priest’s wife was especially angry. Poor + Irinushka even cried several times. + </p> + <p> + But this was later. At this particular instant the Inspector of the police + and the Colonel of the gendarmerie were sitting in Doctor Svetilovitch’s + study and were examining the guests one by one; they turned their pockets + inside out and, for some unknown reason, deprived their owners of letters, + notes, and notebooks. + </p> + <p> + Rameyev was in a quiet, genial mood. He laughed on being searched. + Trirodov made an effort to be calm and was a little sharper than he wished + to be. + </p> + <p> + The women were searched in one of the bedrooms. A police-matron was + brought for this purpose. She was a dirty, cunning sycophant. The contact + of her coarse hands was repulsive. Elisaveta felt uncomfortably unclean + after she had passed through the policewoman’s paws. Elena shivered with + fear and nausea. + </p> + <p> + Those who had been searched were not permitted to enter the dining-room + but were led into the drawing-room. Nearly all the searched ones were + proud of this. They looked as if they were celebrating a birthday. + </p> + <p> + No one was arrested. They began to draw up the official report. Trirodov + quietly addressed a gendarme, but the latter replied in a whisper: + </p> + <p> + “We are not permitted to enter into conversation with any one. Those + scoundrelly spies are watching us, so that we shouldn’t speak with + liberals. They are quick to inform against us.” + </p> + <p> + “You are in an unfortunate business,” said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + The Inspector of the police read the official report aloud. It was signed + by Doctor Svetilovitch, the Inspector, and the witnesses. + </p> + <p> + When the uninvited guests left, the hosts and the invited guests sat down + to supper. + </p> + <p> + It was presently discovered that the beer prepared for the occasion had + been consumed. At the same time the cap of one of the guests had + disappeared. Its owner was very much disturbed. The cap became almost the + sole topic of conversation. + </p> + <p> + On the next day there was much talk in town about the search at the + Svetilovitches, the consumed beer, and especially about the lost cap. + </p> + <p> + Not a little was said in the newspapers about the beer and the cap. One + newspaper in St. Petersburg devoted a very heated article to the stolen + cap. The author of the article made very broad generalizations. He asked: + </p> + <p> + “Is it not one of those caps with which we were preparing to throw back + the foreign enemy? Is not all Russia seeking now its lost cap and cannot + be consoled?"<a href="#linknote-24" name="linknoteref-24" + id="linknoteref-24"><small>24</small></a> + </p> + <p> + Much less was said and written about the consumed beer. For some reason or + other it did not offend people so much. In accordance with our general + custom of placing substance above the form, it was found that the stealing + of the cap deserved the greater protest, inasmuch as it is more difficult + to get along without a cap than without beer. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <p> + Once more alone! He sat in his room, musing of her, recalling her dear + features. + </p> + <p> + There was an album before him—portrait after portrait of her—naked, + beautiful, calling to love, to the sweet solace of love. Would this white + breast cease heaving? Would these clear eyes grow dim? + </p> + <p> + She died. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov closed the album. For a long time he remained immersed in + thought. Suddenly there was a rustling behind the wall, which gradually + grew louder—it seemed as if the whole house were alive with the + movements of the quiet children. Some one knocked on the door; Kirsha + entered, distraught. He said: + </p> + <p> + “Father, let us go into the wood as fast as we can.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov looked at him in silence. Kirsha went on: + </p> + <p> + “Something terrible is happening. There, near the hollow, by the spring.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta’s blue eyes appeared to him suddenly as in a flame. Where was + she? Was she in a difficulty? And his heart fell into the dark abyss of + fear. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha made haste. He almost cried in his agitation. + </p> + <p> + They went on horseback. They whipped up their horses. They feared they + might be too late. + </p> + <p> + Again the quiet, dark, intensely pensive wood. Elisaveta walked alone—tranquil, + blue-eyed, simple in her dress, harmonious in the graceful harmony of her + deep experiences. She fell into thought—she recalled things and + mused upon them. Her dreams were revealed in the gleam of her blue eyes. + Dreams of happiness and of passionate love were interwoven with a + different, greater love; and these melted into one another in the fiery + longing for noble activity and sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + What did she not recall? What did she not dream of? + </p> + <p> + Sharp swords were being forged. To whose lot would they fall? + </p> + <p> + The high standard of solitary freedom was fluttering. + </p> + <p> + Youths and maidens! + </p> + <p> + There, in the dark halls of his house, proud plans were being made. + </p> + <p> + What a beautiful environment of naked beauty! + </p> + <p> + There were the children—happy and beautiful—in the wood. + </p> + <p> + There were the quiet children in his house—radiant and lovable and + touched with such sadness. + </p> + <p> + There was the strange Kirsha. + </p> + <p> + Portraits of his first wife—naked and beautiful. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta’s blue eyes gleamed dreamily. + </p> + <p> + She recalled the details of the previous evening—the remote room in + Trirodov’s house, the small gathering in it, the long discussions, the + subsequent labours, the measured knock of the typing-machine, the damp + pages put into portfolios. + </p> + <p> + Then she thought how she, Stchemilov, Voronok and some one else walked out + into the various streets of the town to paste up the bills. They put the + paste on while still walking. They always took a look round first to see + that no one was in sight. Then they would pause and quickly stick the bill + on the fence. They would go on farther.... The effort had been successful. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta did not think where she was going; she had walked quite far out + of her way, to a place that she had not been to before. She imagined that + the quiet children were keeping guard over her. She walked trustfully in + the forest silence, yielding her bare feet to the caresses of the moist + forest grasses, and now listened, now ceased listening, in delicious + drowsiness. + </p> + <p> + Something rustled behind the bushes, some one’s nimble feet were running + behind the light undergrowth. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she heard a loud laugh—almost at her ears; it broke into + her sweet reverie with such a violent suddenness—like the trumpet of + an archangel calling to wake the dear dead on Judgment Day. Elisaveta felt + some one’s hot breath on her neck. A rough, perspiring hand caught her by + her bared forearm. + </p> + <p> + It was as if Elisaveta had suddenly awakened from a pleasant dream. She + raised her frightened eyes and paused like one bewitched. Two vigorous + ragged men stood before her. They were both handsome young fellows; one of + them was astonishingly handsome, swarthy, black-eyed. Both were barely + covered by their dirty rags, the openings in which showed their dirty, + perspiring, powerful bodies. + </p> + <p> + The men were laughing and crying insolently: + </p> + <p> + “We’ve caught you this time, pretty one!” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll fondle you to your heart’s content—you shan’t forget us so + soon!” + </p> + <p> + They drew closer and closer to her and blew their hot breath upon her. + Elisaveta suddenly came to herself, tore herself away with a quick + movement and began to run. A horror akin to wonder swung the resounding + bell in her breast—her heavily beating heart. It hindered her + running, and there was a beating of sharp little hammers under her knees. + </p> + <p> + The two men quickly overtook her, and as they obstructed her passage they + laughed insolently and said: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my beauty! Don’t make a fuss!” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t get away anyway.” + </p> + <p> + They jostled one another as they pulled Elisaveta about, each towards + himself; and acted altogether awkwardly, as if they did not know who + should begin and how. Their sensual panting bared their white teeth, + vigorous as those of a wild beast. The beauty of the half-naked, swarthy + man tempted Elisaveta—it was a sudden piquant temptation acting like + a poison. + </p> + <p> + The handsome man, his voice hoarse with agitation, shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Tear her clothes! Let her dance naked before us, and make our eyes glad.” + </p> + <p> + “She hasn’t much on!” the other responded with a gay laugh. + </p> + <p> + He caught the broad collar of Elisaveta’s dress with one hand and jerked + it forward; he thrust the other hand, large, hot, and perspiring, under + her chemise and pressed and squeezed her taut young breast. + </p> + <p> + “Two men against one woman—aren’t you ashamed?” said Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be ashamed, my lass, and lie down on the grass,” exclaimed the + handsome, swarthy one, with a laugh very much like a horse’s neigh. His + white teeth gleamed, his eyes flamed with desire, as he tore Elisaveta’s + clothes with his hands and his teeth. The red and the white roses of her + body were soon bared. + </p> + <p> + The sensual breathing of the assailants was horrible and repugnant to her, + and she found it no less horrible and repugnant to look at their + perspiring faces, at the gleaming of their enkindled eyes. But their + beauty was tempting. In the dark depths of her consciousness a thought + struggled—to yield herself, to yield willingly. + </p> + <p> + Her dress and chemise, flimsy of texture, ripped with a barely audible + noise. Elisaveta struggled desperately, and shouted something—she + did not remember what. + </p> + <p> + All her clothes were already torn, and soon the last shreds of her very + light garments fell from her naked body. And in the struggle the rags of + the two clumsily moving men ripped with a loud, splitting sound, their + sudden nakedness rousing them even more. + </p> + <p> + There was seductiveness for Elisaveta in the nakedness of these impetuous + bodies. She taunted them: + </p> + <p> + “The two of you can’t manage one girl.” + </p> + <p> + She was strong and agile. It was difficult for them to conquer her. Her + naked body struggled and wriggled itself out of their arms. The blue arch + of her teeth on the naked shoulder of the handsome, swarthy man grew red + quickly. Drops of dark blood spurted on to his naked torso. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, you carrion-flesh,” he cried in a hoarse voice, “I will....” + </p> + <p> + The powerful but awkward pair grew more and more exasperated. They were + enraged and intoxicated by her extraordinary resistance, by the falling + away of their rags and their sudden nakedness. They beat Elisaveta, in the + beginning with their fists, later with quickly severed branches, or with + those which already lay on the ground. The sharp fires of pain stung her + naked body and tempted her with a burning temptation to yield herself + willingly. But she did not yield herself. Her loud sobs resounded for some + distance around her. + </p> + <p> + The struggle continued for a long time. Elisaveta already began to weaken, + and the raging passions of the two men had not yet exhausted themselves. + Naked and savage, the lips of their wry mouths grown blue, their + blood-inflamed eyes gleaming dimly, they were on the point of drawing her + down to the ground. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the white, quiet boys came running in a swarm into the glade, + lightly and noiselessly, like a rapid, light summer shower. They appeared + so quickly from among the bushes and threw themselves on the savage pair; + they surrounded them, cast themselves upon them, threw them down, cast a + sleeping spell upon them, and dragged them away into the depth of the dark + hollow. And they left the naked bodies sprawling helplessly on the rough + grasses. + </p> + <p> + The rapid, noiseless movements of the quiet boys put Elisaveta into a mood + verging on oblivion, half painful and half sweet. + </p> + <p> + What happened in that thicket seemed like a heavy and incredible dream to + Elisaveta—a sudden and cruel whim of the undependable Aisa. And for + a long time a dark horror nestled in her soul, merging with senseless + laughter—the exulting smile of pitiless irony.... + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta came to herself. She saw above her the green branches of the + birches and the lovely pale faces. She lay in the refreshing grass + encircled by quiet children. She could not recall at once what had + happened to her. Her nakedness was incomprehensible to her—but she + felt no shame. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes paused for a moment on some one’s neatly combed fair hair. She + recognized Klavdia, the dissembling instructress. She stood under the + tree, her arms folded, and looked with her grey eyes gleaming with envy at + Elisaveta’s naked body; it was as if a grey spider was spinning across her + soul a grey web of dull oblivion and tedious indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Clothes will be here in a moment,” said one of the boys quietly. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta closed her eyes and lay tranquilly. Her head felt somewhat + dizzy. Fatigue overcame her. Beautiful and graceful she lay there—as + perfect as the dream of Don Quixote.... + </p> + <p> + They were dark, long-drawn-out moments, and there fell in their midst from + the gradually darkening sky a brief interval of great comprehension. And + this brief interval became like an age—from birth until death. Early + next morning Elisaveta clearly recalled the course of this strange, vivid + life—the sad lofty road, the life of Queen Ortruda.<a + href="#linknote-25" name="linknoteref-25" id="linknoteref-25"><small>25</small></a> + </p> + <p> + And when, suffocating, Ortruda was dying.... + </p> + <p> + The rush of light feet in the grass awakened Elisaveta. Light, adroit + hands dressed her. The quiet boys helped her to rise. Elisaveta rose and + looked around her: a light green Grecian tunic draped her tired body + within its broad folds. Elisaveta thought: + </p> + <p> + “How shall I manage to walk so far?” + </p> + <p> + And as if in answer to her question, she suddenly caught sight of a light + trap under the trees. Some one said: + </p> + <p> + “Kirsha will drive you home.” + </p> + <p> + In her strange dress Elisaveta returned home. She sat silently in the + trap. She did not even notice Trirodov. She was trying to recall + something. Through the dark horror and senseless laughter there shone + clearer and clearer the recollection of another life lived through + momentarily—the life of Queen Ortruda. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <p> + The quiet boy Grisha stood within the enclosure of enchanted sadness and + mystery. His face was pale and reposeful, and there was a keen, quiet + sparkle in his cool, sky-blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + The early evening sky was growing bluer—a blue reposefulness was + pouring itself out upon the earth and extinguishing the ruby-coloured + flames of the sunset. And silhouetted against the blueness of the heights + birds were flying about. Why should they have wings, these earthly, + preoccupied creatures? + </p> + <p> + As he stood there in the quiet of the enclosure, Grisha felt himself drawn + by the fragrance of the lilies of the valley, no less innocent than he, + the quiet, blue-eyed Grisha. It was as if some one were calling him + outside the enclosure, towards the poor life which tormented itself in the + blue and mist-enveloped distance, calling him despairingly and agonizingly—and + he both wished and did not wish to go. Some one’s voice, full of distress, + called him wearily to life outside. + </p> + <p> + How can calls of distress be resisted? When will the tranquil heart forget + earthly travail wholly and for always? + </p> + <p> + At last Grisha walked out of the gate. He took a deep breath of the sharp + but delicious outside air. He walked quietly upon the narrow, dusty path. + His light footprints lay behind him, and his white clothes glimmered + brightly, in quiet movement, against the dim verdure and the grey dust. + Before him, barely visible, rose the white, lifeless, clear moon, + powerless to enchant the tedious earthly spaces. + </p> + <p> + Then the town began—the grey, dull, tiresome town, with its dirty + back yards, consumptive vegetable gardens, broken-down hedges, bathhouses, + and sheds, and all manner of ugly projections and depressing amorphousness—all + of it resembling a hopeless ruin. + </p> + <p> + Egorka, the eleven-year-old son of a local commoner, stood by the hedge of + one of the vegetable gardens. What had been red calico once made up his + torn shirt; but his face!—it was like that of an angel in a tawny + mask covered with spots of dirt and dust. Wings are for light feet, but + what can the earth do? Only dust and clay cling to light feet. + </p> + <p> + Egorka had come out to play. He waited for his companions, but for some + reason none of them was to be seen. He stood alone there, now listening to + this, now looking at that. He suddenly espied on the other side of the + hedge an unknown quiet boy, who—all in white—was looking at + him. Egorka asked in astonishment: + </p> + <p> + “Where do you come from?” + </p> + <p> + “You can never know,” said Grisha. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be too sure of that!” shouted Egorka gaily. “Maybe I do know. Now + tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to know?” asked Grisha with a smile. + </p> + <p> + It was a tranquil smile. Egorka was about to stick his tongue out in + response, but changed his mind for some reason. They began to converse, to + exchange whispers. + </p> + <p> + Everything around them lapsed into deep quiet, and nothing appeared to + give heed to them—it was as if the two little ones went off into + quite another world, behind a thin curtain which no one could rend. So + motionless stood the birches bewitched mysteriously by three fallen + spirits. Grisha asked again: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you would like to know?” + </p> + <p> + “Honest to God, I’d like to; here’s a cross to prove it,” said Egorka + rather quickly, and he crossed himself with an oblique movement of the + joined fingers of his dirty hand. + </p> + <p> + “Then follow me,” said Grisha. + </p> + <p> + He turned lightly homewards, and as he walked he did not stop to look + round at the meagre, tiresome objects of this grey life. Egorka followed + the white boy. He walked quietly and marvelled at the other. He thought + for a while, then he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Are you not one of God’s angels? Why are you so white?” + </p> + <p> + The quiet boy smiled at these words. He said with a light sigh: + </p> + <p> + “No, I am a human being.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean it? An ordinary boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Just like you—almost like you.” + </p> + <p> + “How clean you are! I should say you washed yourself seven times a day + with egg-soap! You walk about barefoot, not at all like me, and the + sunburn doesn’t seem to stick to you—there’s only a cover of dust on + your feet.” + </p> + <p> + The aroma of violets came from somewhere, and it mingled now with the dry + smell of the flying dust, now with the sickly, half-sweet, half-bitter + odour of the smoke of a forest fire. + </p> + <p> + The two boys avoided the tiresome monotony of the fields and the roads, + and entered the dark silence of the wood. They passed by glades and copses + and quietly purling streams. The boys strode along narrow footpaths, where + the gentle dew clung to their feet. Everything appeared wonderful in + Egorka’s eyes, used only to the raging turbulence of a malignant yet dull + and grey life. The time lingered on, running and consuming itself, + wreathed in a circle of delicious moments, and it seemed to Egorka that he + had come into some fabulous land. He slept somewhere at night, and he felt + intensely happy on opening his eyes next morning, having been awakened by + the twitter of birds which shook the dew from the pliant tree-limbs; then + he played with the cheerful boys and listened to music. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes the white Grisha left Egorka all by himself. Then he again + reappeared. Egorka noticed that Grisha kept apart from the others, the + cheerful, noisy children; that he did not play with them, and that he + spoke little—not that he was afraid, or deliberately turned aside, + but simply because it seemed to arrange itself, and it was natural for him + to be alone, radiant and sad. + </p> + <p> + Once Egorka and Grisha, on being left by themselves, went strolling + together through a little wood which was all permeated with light. The + wood grew denser and denser. + </p> + <p> + They came to two tall, straight trees. A bronze rod was suspended between + them, and upon the rod, on rings, hung a dark red silk curtain. The light + breeze caused the thin draperies to flutter. The quiet, blue-eyed Grisha + drew the curtain aside. The red folds came together with a sharp rustle + and with a sudden flare as of a flame. The opening revealed a wooded + vista, all permeated with a strangely bright light, like a vision of a + transfigured land. Grisha said: + </p> + <p> + “Go, Egorushka—it is good there.” + </p> + <p> + Egorka looked into the clear wooded distance: fear beset his heart, and he + said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you afraid of, silly boy?” asked Grisha affectionately. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. Something makes me afraid,” said Egorka timidly. + </p> + <p> + Grisha felt aggrieved. He sighed quietly and then said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, go home, then, if you are afraid here.” + </p> + <p> + Egorka recalled his home, his mother, the town he lived in. He did not + have a very happy time of it at home—they lived poorly, and he was + whipped often. Egorka suddenly threw himself at the quiet Grisha, caught + him by his gentle, cool hands, and cried: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t chase me away, dear Grisha, don’t chase me from you.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I chasing you away?” retorted Grisha. “You yourself don’t want to + come.” + </p> + <p> + Egorka got down on his knees and whispered as he kissed Grisha’s feet: + </p> + <p> + “I pray to you angels with all my strength.” + </p> + <p> + “Then follow me,” said Grisha. + </p> + <p> + Light hands descended on Egorka’s shoulders and lifted him from the grass. + Egorka followed Grisha obediently to the blue paradise of his quiet eyes. + A peaceful valley opened before him and the quiet children played in it. + The dew fell on Egorka’s feet, and its kisses gave him joy. The quiet + children surrounded Egorka and Grisha and, all joining hands in one broad + ring, carried the two boys with them in a swiftly moving dance. + </p> + <p> + “My dear angels,” shouted Egorka, twirling and rejoicing, “you have bright + little faces, you have clean little eyes, you have white little hands, you + have light little feet! Am I on earth or am I in Paradise? My dear ones, + my little brothers and little sisters, where are your little wings?” + </p> + <p> + Some one’s near, sweet-sounding voice answered him: + </p> + <p> + “You are upon the earth, not in Paradise, and we have no need of wings—we + fly wingless.” + </p> + <p> + They captivated, bewitched, and caressed him. They showed him all the + wonders of the wood under the tree-stumps, the bushes, the dry leaves—little + wood-sprites with rustling little voices, with spider-webby hair, straight + ones and hunchbacked ones; little old men of the wood; the shadow-sprites + and little companion spirits; bantering little sprites in green coats, + midnight ones and daylight ones, grey ones and black ones; little + jokers-pokers with shaggy little paws; fabulous birds and animals—everything + that is not to be seen in the gloomy, everyday, earthly world. + </p> + <p> + Egorka had a splendid time with the quiet children. He did not notice how + a whole week had passed by—from Friday to Friday. And suddenly he + began to long for his mother. He heard her calling him at night, and as he + woke in agitation he called: + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, where are you?” + </p> + <p> + There was stillness and silence all around him—it was an altogether + unknown world. Egorka began to cry. The quiet children came to comfort + him. They said to him: + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing to cry about. You will return to your mother. And she + will be glad, and she will caress you.” + </p> + <p> + “She may whip me,” said Egorka, sobbing. + </p> + <p> + The quiet children smiled and said: + </p> + <p> + “Fathers and mothers whip their children.” + </p> + <p> + “They like to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems wicked to beat any one.” + </p> + <p> + “But they really mean well.” + </p> + <p> + “They beat whom they love.” + </p> + <p> + “People mix everything up shame, love, pain.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you be afraid, Egorushka—she’s a mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I’ll not be afraid,” said Egorka, comforted. + </p> + <p> + When Egorka took leave of the quiet children Grisha said to him: + </p> + <p> + “You had better not tell your mother where you have passed all this time.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I won’t tell,” replied Egorka vigorously, “not for anything.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll blab it out,” said one of the girls. + </p> + <p> + She had dark, infinitely deep eyes; her thin, bare arms were always folded + obstinately across her breast. She spoke even less than the other quiet + children, and of all human words she liked “no” most. + </p> + <p> + “No, I shan’t blab anything,” asserted Egorka. “I shan’t even tell any one + where I have been; I shall put all these words under lock and key.” + </p> + <p> + That same evening when Egorka left with Grisha, his mother suddenly missed + him. She shouted a long time and cursed and threatened; but as there was + no response she became frightened. “Perhaps he’s been drowned,” she + thought. She ran among her neighbours, wailing and lamenting. + </p> + <p> + “My boy’s gone. I can’t find him anywhere. I simply don’t know where else + to look. He’s either drowned in the river or fallen into a well—that’s + what comes of mischief-making.” + </p> + <p> + One neighbour suggested: + </p> + <p> + “It’s most likely the Jews have caught him and are keeping him in some + out-of-the-way spot, and only waiting to let his Christian blood and then + drink it.” + </p> + <p> + This guess pleased them. They said with great assurance: + </p> + <p> + “It’s Jews’ work.” + </p> + <p> + “They are again at it, that accursed breed.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no getting rid of them.” + </p> + <p> + “What a wretched affair!” + </p> + <p> + They all believed this. The disturbing rumour that the Jews had stolen a + Christian boy spread about town. Ostrov took a most zealous share in + disseminating the rumour. The markets were filled with noisy discussions. + The tradesmen and dealers, instigated by Ostrov, bellowed loudly their + denunciations. Why did Ostrov do this? He knew, of course, that it was a + lie. But latterly, acting on the instructions of the local branch of the + Black Hundred, he had been engaged in provocatory work. The new episode + came in handily. + </p> + <p> + The police began an investigation. They looked for the boy, but without + success. In any case, they found a Jew who had been seen by some one near + Egorka’s house. He was arrested. + </p> + <p> + It was evening again. Egorka’s mother was at home when Egorka returned. + There was a radiant sadness about him as he walked up to his mother, + kissed her and said: + </p> + <p> + “Hello, mamma!” + </p> + <p> + Egorka’s mother assailed him with questions: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you little wretch! Where have you been? What have you been doing? + What unclean demons have carried you away?” + </p> + <p> + Egorka remembered his promise. He stood before his mother in obstinate + silence. His mother questioned him angrily: + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been? tell me! Did the Jews try to crucify you?” + </p> + <p> + “What Jews?” exclaimed Egorka. “No one has tried to crucify me.” + </p> + <p> + “You just wait, you young brat,” shouted his mother in a rage, “I’ll make + you talk.” + </p> + <p> + She caught hold of the besom and began to tear off its twigs. Then she + stripped the boy of his light clothes. Still wrapt in his radiant sadness, + Egorka looked at his mother with astonished eyes. He cried plaintively: + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, what are you doing?” + </p> + <p> + But, already seized by the rough hand, the little body that had been + washed by the still waters began to struggle on the knees of the harshly + crying woman. It was painful, and Egorka sobbed in a shrill voice. His + mother beat him long and painfully, and she accompanied each blow with an + admonition: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me where you’ve been! Tell me! I won’t stop until you tell me.” + </p> + <p> + At last she stopped and burst out into violent crying: + </p> + <p> + “Why has God punished me so? But no, I’ll yet beat a word out of you. I’ll + give it to you worse to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Egorka was shaken less by the physical pain than by the unexpected + harshness of his reception. He had been in touch with another world, and + the quiet children in the enchanted valley had reconstructed his soul on + another plane. + </p> + <p> + His mother, however, loved him. Of course, she loved him. That was why she + beat him in her anger. Love and cruelty go always together among + humankind. They like to torment, vengeance gives them pleasure. But later + Egorka’s mother took pity on him; she thought she had flogged him too + hard. And now she walked up quietly to him. + </p> + <p> + Egorka lay on the bench and moaned softly, then he grew silent. His mother + smoothed his back awkwardly with her rough hands and left him. She thought + he had gone to sleep. + </p> + <p> + In the morning she went to wake him. She found him lying cold and + motionless on the bench, his face downward. And his radiance was gone from + him—he lay there a dark, cold corpse. The horrified mother began to + wail: + </p> + <p> + “He’s dead! Egorushka, are you really dead? Oh, God—and his little + hands are quite cold!” + </p> + <p> + She dashed out to her neighbours, she aroused the whole neighbourhood with + her shrill cries. Inquisitive women soon filled the house. + </p> + <p> + “I struck him ever so lightly with a thin twig,” the mother wailed. “Then + my angel lay down on the bench, cried a little, then grew quiet and went + to sleep, and in the morning he gave up his soul to God.” + </p> + <p> + Held by a heavy, death-like sleep, Egorka lay there motionless and to all + appearances lifeless, and listened to his mother’s wailing and to the + discordant clamour of voices. And he heard his mother keening over him: + </p> + <p> + “Those accursed Jews have sucked out all his blood! It was not the first + time that I beat my little darling! It used to be that I’d beat him and + put a bit of salt on afterwards, and nothing would come of it—and + here I’ve hit him with a little twig and he, my handsome darling, my + little angel....” + </p> + <p> + Egorka heard her groans and wondered at his fettered helplessness and + immobility. He seemed to hear the noise of some one else’s body—he + realized that it was his own as it was put on the floor to be washed. He + had an intense longing to stir, to rise, but he could not. He thought: + </p> + <p> + “I have died: what are they going to do with me now?” + </p> + <p> + And again he thought: + </p> + <p> + “Why is it that my soul is not leaving my body? I do not feel that I have + arms or legs, yet I can hear.” + </p> + <p> + He wondered and waited. Then, with a sudden powerless exertion, he tried + to wake from his death-like sleep, to return to himself, to run away from + the dark grave—and again his helpless will drooped, and again he + waited. + </p> + <p> + And he heard the sounds of the funeral chant, and noted the blueness of + the little cloud of incense-smoke and the fragrance that was wafted by the + quietly sounding swings of the smoky censer. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <p> + Egorka was buried. His mother wept long over his grave in long-drawn-out + wails, then went home. She was convinced that her boy would be far better + off there than upon the earth, and was consoled. But such truly Russian + people as Kerbakh, Ostrov, and others would not be consoled. They let + loose evil rumours. The report spread: + </p> + <p> + “The Jews have tortured a Christian boy. They’ve cut him up with knives + and used his blood in their matzoth."<a href="#linknote-26" + name="linknoteref-26" id="linknoteref-26"><small>26</small></a> + </p> + <p> + The slanderers were not deterred by the consideration that the Jewish + Passover had taken place very much earlier than the running away of Egorka + from his mother. + </p> + <p> + The townsmen were agitated—those who believed as well as those who + did not believe the tale. Demands were made for an investigation and the + opening of the grave. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta came to Trirodov’s house early in the day and remained there + long. Trirodov showed her his colony. The quiet boy Grisha accompanied + them, and looked with the blue reposefulness of his impassionate eyes into + the blue flames of her rapturous ones, soothing the sultriness and passion + of her agitation. + </p> + <p> + Her light, ample dress seemed transparent—the perfect outlines of + her body showed clearly; the red and white roses of her breast and + shoulders were visible. Her sunburnt feet were bare—she loved the + affectionate contact of the earth and the grass. + </p> + <p> + It was all like a paradise—the twittering of the birds, the hubbub + of the children, the rustle of the wind in the grass and in the trees, the + murmur of the brook in the wood. Everything was innocent, as in Paradise—girls, + scantily dressed, came up, spoke to them, and were not ashamed. Everything + was chaste, as in Paradise. And cloudless, the sky shone above the forest + glades. + </p> + <p> + Towards evening Elisaveta sat at Trirodov’s. They read poems. Elisaveta + loved poems even before she met Trirodov. Who else should love them if not + girls? Now she read poems avidly. Whole hours passed by quickly in + reading, and the poems gave birth in her to sweet and bitter emotions and + passionate dreams. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps this was so because she was in love; in love she had found a new + sun for herself, and she led a new dance round it of dreams, hopes, + sorrows, joys, enchantments, and raptures. And, flaunting a rainbow of + radiance, this round dance, this naming circle of impetuous emotions, was + full of a rich music and vivid colour. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov caused her to fall in love with the verses of the new poets. She + found such enchantments and such disillusions in the fragile music of new + poetry, written so happily and so elusively, with a lightness and + transparency like those of the dresses that she now loved to wear. + </p> + <p> + With the harmony of their souls thus achieved, why should they not love + one another? + </p> + <p> + Once, after they had read together some beautiful love-poems, Trirodov + remarked: + </p> + <p> + “Love says ‘No’ to the world, the lyrical ‘No’—marriage says ‘Yes’ + to it, the ironic ‘Yes.’ To be in love, to strive, yet not to possess—that + is the poetry of love, sweet but illusive. Externally love contradicts the + world and conceals its fatal discord. To be together, to say ‘Yes’ to some + one, to yield oneself—that is the way in which life reveals its + irreconcilable contradictions. And how to be together when we are such + solitary souls? And how to yield oneself? Mask after mask falls off, and + it is terrible to see Janus-faced actuality. A weariness comes on—what + has become of love, that love which had prided itself on being stronger + than death?” + </p> + <p> + “You have had a wife,” said Elisaveta. “You loved her. Everything here is + reminiscent of her. She was beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice became dark, and the blue flashes under the moist eyelids lit up + with a jealous flame. Trirodov smiled and said sadly: + </p> + <p> + “She left life before the time had come for weariness to make its + appearance. My Dulcinea did not want to become Aldonza.” + </p> + <p> + “Dulcinea is loved,” said Elisaveta, “but the fullness of life belongs to + Aldonza becoming Dulcinea.” + </p> + <p> + “But does Aldonza want that?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “She wants it, but cannot realize it,” said Elisaveta. “But we will help + her, we will teach her.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov smiled affectionately—if sadly—and said: + </p> + <p> + “But he, like the eternal Don Juan, always seeks Dulcinea. And what is to + him the poor earthly Aldonza, poisoned by the dream of beauty?” + </p> + <p> + “It is for that that he will love her,” replied Elisaveta; “because she is + poor and has been poisoned by the exultant dream of beauty. The basis for + their union will be creative beauty.” + </p> + <p> + The night came: a darkness settled outside the windows, full of the + whisperings of sad, pellucid voices. Trirodov walked up to the window. + Elisaveta soon stood beside him—and almost at the same instant their + eyes fixed themselves upon the distant, dimly visible cemetery. Trirodov + said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “He has been buried there. But he will rise from his grave.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta looked at him in astonishment and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov glanced at her like one suddenly awakened and said slowly: + </p> + <p> + “It is a boy who has not yet lived, and who is still chaste. His body + contains all possibilities and not a single achievement. He is like one + created to receive every energy directed at him. Now he is asleep in his + tight coffin, in a grave. He will awake for a life free from passions and + desires, for clear seeing and hearing, for the establishment of one will.” + </p> + <p> + “When will he awake?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “When I wish it,” said Trirodov, “I will wake him.” + </p> + <p> + The sound of his voice was sad and insistent—like the sound of an + invocation. + </p> + <p> + “To-night?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “If you wish it,” answered Trirodov quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Must I leave?” she asked again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, just as simply and as quietly as before. + </p> + <p> + She bid him good-bye and left. Trirodov again walked up to the window. He + called some one in a voice of invocation and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “You will awake, dear one. Wake, rise, come to me. I will open your eyes, + and you will see what you have not yet seen. I will open your ears, and + you will hear what you have not yet heard. You are of the earth—I + will not part you from the earth. You are from me, you are mine, you are + I; come to me. Wake!” + </p> + <p> + He waited confidently. He knew that when the sleeper had awakened in his + grave they would come to him—the wise, innocent ones—and would + tell him. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha walked into the room quietly. He walked up to his father and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Are you looking at the cemetery?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov laid his hand silently on the boy’s head. Kirsha said: + </p> + <p> + “There is a boy in one of the graves who is not dead.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + But he knew what Kirsha’s answer would be. Kirsha said: + </p> + <p> + “Grisha told me that Egorka was not quite dead. He is asleep; but he will + awake!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “And will he come to you?” asked Kirsha. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “When will he come?” asked Kirsha again. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov said with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “Rouse Grisha and ask him whether the sleeper has yet begun to wake in his + grave.” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha walked away. Trirodov looked in silence at the distant cemetery, + where the dark, bereaved night stooped sadly over the crosses. + </p> + <p> + “And where are you, my happy beloved?” + </p> + <p> + A quiet rustle made itself audible behind the doors: the little + house-sprites moved quietly near the walls, and whispered and waited. + </p> + <p> + Awakened by a low sigh, Grisha arose. He walked out into the garden and + stood listening with downcast eyes near the railing. He was smiling, but + without joy. Who knew whether the other would rejoice? + </p> + <p> + Kirsha walked up to him and, indicating the cemetery with a movement of + his head, asked: + </p> + <p> + “Is he alive? Has he awakened?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Grisha. “Egorushka is sighing in his grave; he’s just + awakened.” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha ran home to his father and repeated to him Grisha’s words. + </p> + <p> + “We must make haste,” said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + He again experienced an agitation with which he had been long familiar. He + felt in himself an ebb and flow as of some strange power. A kind of + marvellous energy, gathered by some means known to himself alone, issued + slowly from him. A mysterious current passed between himself and the grave + where the boy who had departed from life lay in the throes of death-sleep; + it cast a spell upon the sleeper and caused him to stir. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov quickly descended the stairway into the room where the quiet + children slept. His light footsteps were barely audible, and his feet felt + the cold that came from the planked floor. The quiet children lay upon + their beds motionlessly, as if they did not breathe. It seemed as if there + were many of them, and that they slept eternally in the endless darkness + of that quiet bedchamber. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov paused seven times, and each time one of the sleepers awoke at + his one glance. Three boys and four girls answered his call. They stood + there tranquilly, looked at Trirodov and waited. + </p> + <p> + “Follow me!” said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + They walked after him, the white quiet ones, and the rustle of their light + footsteps was barely heard. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha waited in the garden—and he seemed earthly and dark among the + white, quiet children. + </p> + <p> + They walked quickly upon the Navii path like gliding, nocturnal shadows, + one after another, the whole ten of them, with Grisha leading. The dew + fell upon their naked feet, and the ground under their feet was soft, + warm, and sad. + </p> + <p> + Egorka awoke in his grave. It was dark and somewhat stuffy. His head felt + oppressed as under a weight. There sounded in his ears the persistent + call: + </p> + <p> + “Rise, come to me.” + </p> + <p> + Fear assailed him. His eyes looked but did not see. It was hard to + breathe. He recalled something, and all that he recalled was like a + horrible delirium. Then came the sudden awful realization: + </p> + <p> + “I am in a grave, in a coffin.” + </p> + <p> + He groaned, and his heart began to thump. His throat, as if clutched by + some one’s fingers, shivered convulsively. His eyes dilated widely, and + the flaming darkness of the nailed-up coffin swept before them. As he + tossed about in the tight coffin, tormented by his dread, Egorka moaned, + and whispered in a dull voice: + </p> + <p> + “Three house-sprites, three wood-sprites, three fallen sprites!” + </p> + <p> + The gate to the burial-ground was open. Trirodov and the children entered. + They were among the poor graves—simple little mounds and wooden + crosses. It was gloomy, damp, and quiet. There was a smell of grass—a + graveyard reverie. The crosses gleamed white in the mist. A poignant + silence hovered there, and the whole cemetery seemed filled with the dark + reverie of the dead. Poignant feelings were re-experienced deliciously and + painfully. + </p> + <p> + Nowhere does the soil feel so near to one as in a graveyard—it is + the sacred soil of repose. They walked quietly, the whole ten of them, one + after another, and felt the coolness and the softness of the ground under + their bare feet. They passed near a grave. The little mound was quiet and + poor, and it seemed as if the earth were crying, wailing, and suffering. + </p> + <p> + The boys, dimly discernible in the darkness against the lumps of black + earth, began to dig the grave. The little girls stood very quietly, one at + each of the four sides, and seemed engrossed in the nocturnal silence. The + watchmen slept like the dead, and the dead slept, keeping a powerless + watch over their graves. + </p> + <p> + Slowly the little coffin began to show. The low moan became audible. The + boys already jumped into the grave. They bent over the poor little coffin. + Though it was half-covered with earth, the boys already felt the tremors + of its cover under their feet. + </p> + <p> + The cover, hammered down with nails, yielded easily to the exertions of + the small, childish hands, and fell to the side against the grave’s + earthen wall. The coffin opened as simply as the door of a room opens. + </p> + <p> + Egorka was already losing his consciousness. When the boys first looked at + him he was lying on his side. He stirred faintly. + </p> + <p> + He breathed in the air as if with short, broken sighs. He shivered. He + turned over on his back. + </p> + <p> + The fresh air blew into his face like a young rapture of deliverance. + There was a sudden instant of joy—and it went out like a flame. Why + indeed, should he rejoice? The tranquil, unjoyous ones bent over him. + </p> + <p> + Again to live? His soul felt strange, quiet, indifferent. Some one said + affectionately over him: + </p> + <p> + “Rise, dear one, come to us; we will show you that which you have not seen + and will teach you that which is secret.” + </p> + <p> + The stars of the far sky looked into his eyes, and some one’s near, + affectionate eyes bent over him. Many, many gentle, cool hands stretched + out to him; they took him, helped him up and lifted him out. + </p> + <p> + He stood in a circle. They looked at him. His arms again folded themselves + across his breast, as in the grave—as, if the habit had been + assimilated for ages. One of the little girls rearranged them and + straightened them out. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Egorka asked: + </p> + <p> + “What is this? A little grave?” + </p> + <p> + Grisha replied: + </p> + <p> + “This is your grave, but you will be with us and with our master.” + </p> + <p> + “And the grave?” asked Egorka. + </p> + <p> + “We will fill it up again,” replied Grisha. + </p> + <p> + The boys began to fill up the grave. Egorka looked on in quiet + astonishment as lumps of earth fell into the grave and the little mound + kept on growing. The ground was smoothed down and the cross placed as + before. Egorka walked up to it and read the inscription: + </p> + <p> + “Boy Giorgiy Antipov.” + </p> + <p> + Then the year, month, and date of his death. + </p> + <p> + He was faintly astonished, but an ominous indifference already made + captive his soul. + </p> + <p> + Some one touched his shoulder and asked something. Egorka was silent. He + looked as if he did not understand. + </p> + <p> + “Come to me,” said Trirodov quietly to him. + </p> + <p> + The little girl who always said “No” took Egorka by the hand and led him + away. They went back by the same road as they came. The darkness closed + after them. + </p> + <p> + Egorka remained with the quiet children. He had no passport, and his life + was different. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <p> + Trirodov returned home. Like one returned from a grave, he felt happy and + light-hearted. His heart was consumed with exultation and resolution. He + recalled the talk he had had that day with Elisaveta. There rose before + him the proud joyous vision of life transfigured by the force of creative + art, of life created by the proud will. + </p> + <p> + If love, or what seemed like love, came to him, why should he resist it? + Whether it was a true emotion, or an illusion, was it not all the same? + The will, exulting above the world, would determine everything as it + wanted. It would have the power to erect a beautiful love over the + helplessness of the exhausted senses. + </p> + <p> + That which has so long weighed in the scales of consciousness, that which + has so long and so desperately wrestled in the dark region of the + unconscious now stood at a clear decision. Let the word “Yes” be said. + Once more Yes. For a new grief? For a glorious triumph? It was all the + same. If only he believed in her—and she in him. So much did one + mean to the other now. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov sat down at the table. He smiled, and for a few moments seemed + lost in thought. Then he wrote quickly upon a light blue sheet of paper: + </p> + <p> + “Elisaveta, I want your love. Love me, dear one, love me. I forget my + knowledge, I reject my doubts, I become again as simple and as humble as a + communicant of a radiant kingdom, like my dear children—and I only + want your nearness and your kisses. Upon the earth, dear to our heart, I + will pass by, in simple and joyous humility, with bare feet, like you—in + order that I may come to you as you come to me. Love me. + </p> + <p> + “Your GIORGIY.” + </p> + <p> + There was a slight rustle behind the door. It seemed as if the whole house + were filled with the quiet children. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov sealed the letter. He wished to take it at once and leave it on + the sill of her open window. He walked quietly, immersed in the wood’s + darkness—and his feet felt the contact of warm moss, the dew-wet + grass, and the simple, rough, beloved earth. A refreshing breeze blew from + the river in the night coolness, but now and then there came a sickly, + pungent gust of the forest fire. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta could not fall asleep. She rose from her bed. She stood by the + window, and yielded her naked body to the transparent embraces of the + nocturnal breeze. She thought of something, mused of something. And all + her thoughts and musings joined in one dancing circle around Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + Should she wait? He was a weary, sad man, and he would not say the sweet + words for fear of appearing ridiculous, and of receiving a cold answer. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I wait?” she thought. “Or don’t I dare decide my fate like a + queen, to call him to me, and to demand his love? Why should I remain + silent?” + </p> + <p> + And she decided: + </p> + <p> + “I will tell him myself—I love you, I love you, come to me, love + me.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta whispered the delicious words, entrusting her passionate + reveries to the nocturnal silence. The dark eyes of the nocturnal guest + who brought tempting reveries were aflame. The quiet splashing laughter of + the water-nymph behind the reeds under the moon mingled with the quiet, + delicious laughter of the nocturnal enchantress who had flaming eyes, + burning lips, and a naked body formed from the coils of white flame. Her + flaming body was like Elisaveta’s body, and the black lightnings of the + invisible sorceress were like the blue lightnings of Elisaveta’s eyes. She + tempted Elisaveta, and called to her: + </p> + <p> + “Go to him, go. Fall naked at his feet, kiss his feet, laugh for him, + dance for him, tire yourself out for his sake, be a slave to him, be a + thing in his hands—cling to him, and kiss him, and look into his + eyes, and yield yourself up to him. Go, go, hurry, run, he is approaching + even now—do you see him? It is he who has just come out of the wood—do + you see? It is his feet that show white in the grass. Fling the door wide + open and run as you are to meet him.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta saw Trirodov coming. Her heart began to beat with such pain and + such delight. She walked away from the window. She waited. She heard his + footsteps on the sand under the window. Something flashed through the + window and fell on the floor. The footsteps retreated. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta picked up the letter, lit a candle, and read the beloved blue + sheet of paper. The nocturnal enchantress whispered to her: + </p> + <p> + “He’s going away. Hurry. You will know how sweet are the first kisses of + love. Go to him, run after him, don’t look for tiresome robes.” + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta impetuously flung the door open on the veranda, and ran down the + broad steps into the garden. She ran after Trirodov and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Giorgiy!” + </p> + <p> + It was like the outcry of passionate desire. Trirodov paused, saw her, + impetuously white and clear in the moonlight. Elisaveta fell into his arms + and kissed him and laughed, and kept on repeating without end: + </p> + <p> + “I love you, I love you, I love you.” + </p> + <p> + And they kissed, and they laughed, and said something to one another. The + red and white roses of her strong, graceful body were chaste and + uncrumpled. The words they said to one another were chaste and sacred. The + chaste moon looked down on them, and the stars also, as they spoke the + words that bound them to one another. There were vows and rites not less + durable than any other kind. There were smiles, kisses, tender words—in + these consist the eternal rite and the eternal mystery. + </p> + <p> + The sky began to lighten and a new dew fell on a new dawn, and when the + sunrise had extended its rapturous flames the sun rose—only then + they parted. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta returned to her room. But she could not sleep. She went into + Elena’s room. Elena had only just awakened. Elisaveta lay down at her side + under the bed-cover, and told her about her great love, her great joy. + Elena rejoiced and laughed and kissed her sister without end. + </p> + <p> + Then Elisaveta put on her morning dress, and went to her father—to + tell him about her joy, her happiness. + </p> + <p> + As for Trirodov, oppressed by morning fatigue, he walked home across the + moist grass—and his soul was filled with perplexity and dread. + </p> + <p> + Later in the day he drove to the Rameyevs. He brought as a gift to + Elisaveta a photograph he had taken of his first wife—upon her nude + body was a bronze belt, its ends coming down to the knees being joined up + in the front; upon her dark hair was a narrow round strip of gold. A + slender, graceful body—a melancholy smile—intense dark eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Father knows,” said Elisaveta. “Father is glad. Let us go to him.” + </p> + <p> + When Elisaveta and Trirodov were once more alone, a dark thought came into + Elisaveta’s mind. She became pensively sad, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “What of the sleeper in the grave?” + </p> + <p> + “He has awakened,” replied Trirodov. “He’s in my house. We’ve dug up his + grave just in time to save his mother from having any qualms of + conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov explained: + </p> + <p> + “Early this morning the coroner had the grave dug up. They found the empty + coffin. Luckily, I found out about this in time, before new stupid talk + might arise, and gave them the necessary explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “What of the boy?” asked Elisaveta. + </p> + <p> + “He will remain with me. He does not wish to go to his mother, and he is + not particularly necessary to her—she will receive money for him.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov said all this in a dry, cold voice. + </p> + <p> + The news that Elisaveta would become Trirodov’s wife acted differently on + her relatives. Rameyev liked Trirodov, and was glad because of the closer + connexion; he was a little sorry for Piotr, but thought it was well that + the matter had come to a decision, and Piotr would no longer torment + himself by entertaining false hopes. Nevertheless Rameyev was disturbed + for some unknown reason. + </p> + <p> + Elena loved Elisaveta and shared her joy. She loved Piotr, and was, + therefore, even more glad; she pitied him—and, therefore, loved him + even more. She loved him so deeply, and entertained such hopes of his + love, that her pity for him became serene and radiant. She looked at Piotr + with loving eyes. + </p> + <p> + Piotr was in a state of despair. But Elena’s eyes aroused in him a sweet + agitation for a new love. His wearied heart thirsted, and suffered + intensely from deceived hopes. + </p> + <p> + Misha was strangely distraught. He flushed, and ran off more than usual + with his fishing-rod to the river; there he wept. Now he impetuously + embraced Elisaveta, now Trirodov. He felt ashamed and bitter. He knew that + Elisaveta did not even suspect his love, and that she looked at him as at + an infant. Sometimes in his helplessness he hated her. He said to Piotr: + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t walk about with a long face if I were you. She is not worthy + of your love. She puts on airs. Elena is much better. Elena is a dear, + while the other fancies all sorts of things.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr walked away from him in silence. And it was well that there was some + one who did not scold, and with whom it was possible to ease his soul. + Misha, too, wanted to be with Elisaveta, and it made him feel ashamed and + depressed. + </p> + <p> + Miss Harrison did not express her opinion. Many things had already shocked + her, and she grew accustomed to bear herself indifferently to everything + that happened here. Trirodov, in her opinion, was an adventurer, a man + with a doubtful reputation, and a dark past. + </p> + <p> + Elisaveta was the most tranquil of all. + </p> + <p> + Piotr’s gloomy appearance disturbed Rameyev. He wanted to comfort him if + only with words. Luckily, people believe even in words! They must believe + in something. + </p> + <p> + Rameyev and Piotr happened to find themselves alone. Rameyev said: + </p> + <p> + “I must confess that I once thought Elisaveta loved you. Or that she might + love you, if you wished it strongly.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr said with a gloomy smile: + </p> + <p> + “I too may be pardoned for the error. All the more since M. Trirodov does + not lack lovers.” + </p> + <p> + “Any one may be pardoned for mistakes,” answered Rameyev calmly, “though + they may be painful enough sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr grumbled something. Rameyev continued: + </p> + <p> + “I have been observing Elisaveta very attentively of late. And listen to + what I say—pardon me for my frankness—I have come to the + conclusion that you’d be better off with Elena. Perhaps you have also + erred in your feelings.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr replied with a bitter smile: + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course—Elena is more simple. She doesn’t read philosophic + books, she doesn’t wear over-classical frocks; and doesn’t detest any + one.” + </p> + <p> + “Why drag self-love into everything?” asked Rameyev. “Elena is not as + simple as you think. She is a very intelligent girl, though without + pretensions to a deep and broad outlook—and she is good, attractive, + and cheerful.” + </p> + <p> + “In fact, quite a match for me,” observed Piotr with an ironic smile. + </p> + <p> + “As for that,” said Rameyev, “you are not limited to choosing a charming + wife from among my daughters.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s not so easy,” said Piotr with dejected irony. “But I see no need + of insisting. Besides, the same thing might happen with Elena. She might + come across a more brilliant match. And there are not a few charlatans in + this world of the Trirodov brand.” + </p> + <p> + “Elena loves you,” said Rameyev. “Surely you have noticed it?” + </p> + <p> + Piotr laughed. He assumed a gaiety—or did he actually feel gay and + joyous at the sudden thought of the charming Elena? Of course she loved + him! But he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you think, my dear uncle, that I need a wife at all costs? May God + be with her!” + </p> + <p> + “You are in love generally, as is common in your years,” said Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Piotr, “but Elisaveta’s choice revolts me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should it?” asked Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + “For many reasons,” replied Piotr. “For one thing, he presented her with a + photograph of his dead wife, a naked beauty. Why? Is it right to make + universal that which is intimate?<a href="#linknote-27" + name="linknoteref-27" id="linknoteref-27"><small>27</small></a> She + revealed her body to her husband, and not for Elisaveta and for us.” + </p> + <p> + “You would do away with many fine pictures if you had your way,” said + Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + “I am not so simple as not to be able to make a distinction,” replied + Piotr animatedly. “In the one case it is pure art, always sacred; in the + other there is an effort to inflame the feelings with pornographic + pictures. And don’t you notice it yourself, uncle, that Elisaveta has + poisoned herself with this sweet poison, and has become terribly + passionate and insufficiently modest?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not find this at all,” said Rameyev dryly. + </p> + <p> + “She is in love—so what’s to be done? If there is sensuality in + people, what is to be done with nature? Shall the whole world be maimed in + order to gratify a decrepit morality?” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle, I did not suspect you of being such an amoralist,” said Piotr in + vexation. + </p> + <p> + “There is morality and morality,” replied Rameyev, not without some + confusion. “I do not uphold depravity, but nevertheless demand freedom of + thought and feeling. A free feeling is always innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “And what will you say of those naked girls in his woods—is that + also innocent?” asked Piotr rather spitefully. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” replied Rameyev. “His problem is to lull to sleep the beast + in man, and to awaken the man.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard his discourses,” said Piotr, showing his annoyance, “and I + do not believe them in the slightest. I’m only astonished that others can + believe such nonsense. And I don’t believe either in his poetry or in his + chemistry. He has too many secrets and mysteries, too many cunning + mechanisms in his doors and his corridors. Then there are his quiet + children—that I do not understand at all. Where have they come from? + What does he do with them? There is something nasty behind it all.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a work of the imagination,” answered Rameyev. “We see him often, + we can always go to him, and we haven’t seen or heard anything in his + house or in his colony to confirm the town tattle about him.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr recalled the evening that he met Trirodov on the river-bank. His sad + but determined eyes suddenly flared up in Piotr’s memory—and the + poison of his spite grew weaker. He seemed affected as by a strange + bewitchment, as if some one persistently yet quietly urged him to believe + that the ways of Trirodov were fair and clean. Piotr closed his eyes—and + the radiant vision appeared before him of the semi-nude girls of the wood, + who filed past him, and sanctified him by the serenity and the peace of + their chaste eyes. Piotr sighed and said quietly, as if fatigued: + </p> + <p> + “I have no cause to say these malicious words. Perhaps you are right. But + it is so hard for me!” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless this conversation did much to soothe Piotr. Thoughts about + Elena returned to him oftener and oftener, and became more and more + tender. + </p> + <p> + It so happened that, acting upon some unspoken yet understood agreement, + every one tried to direct Piotr’s attention to Elena. Piotr submitted to + this general influence, and was affectionate and gentle with Elena. Elena + expectantly waited for his love; and at night, turning her blazing face + and loosened locks in the direction of the nymph’s laughter, she would + whisper: + </p> + <p> + “I love you, I love you, I love you!” + </p> + <p> + And when left alone with Piotr, she would look at him with love-frightened + eyes, all rosy like the spring, and pulsating with expectancy; and with + every sigh of her tender breast, and with all the life of her passionate + body she would repeat the same unspoken words: “I love you, I love you, I + love you.” And Piotr began to understand that he had met his fate in + Elena, and that whether he willed it or not he would grow to love her. + This presentiment of a new love was like a sweet gnawing in a heart + wounded by treacherous love. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII + </h2> + <p> + The local police department was not very skilful in tracking down thieves + and murderers. And it did not occupy itself much with this ungrateful + business. It had other things to think of in those turbulent days. + Instead, it turned its ill-disposed attention to Trirodov’s educational + colony—thanks to the efforts of Ostrov and his friends and patrons. + </p> + <p> + The neighbourhood of Trirodov’s estate began to teem with detectives. They + assumed various guises, and though they employed all their cunning to + escape observation they did not succeed in fooling any one. Of limited + intelligence, they fulfilled their duties without inspiration, tediously, + greyly, and dully. + </p> + <p> + Soon the children learned to recognize the detectives. Even at a distance + they would say at the sight of a suspicious character: + </p> + <p> + “There goes a detective!” + </p> + <p> + Upon seeing him again they would say: + </p> + <p> + “There goes our detective!” + </p> + <p> + Of the uniformed police the first to make inquiries at Trirodov’s colony + was a sergeant. He was fairly drunk. It happened on the same day that + Egorka returned home to his mother. + </p> + <p> + The sergeant entered the outer courtyard, the gates of which happened to + have been left open by chance. A strong smell of vodka came from him. With + the suspicious eye of an inexperienced spy he examined the barns, the + ice-cellar, and the kitchen. He wondered stupidly at the cleanliness of + the yard and the tidiness of the new buildings. + </p> + <p> + The sergeant was about to enter the kitchen in order to talk with some one + about the business on which he had been sent, when quite suddenly he saw a + young girl, one of the instructresses, Zinaida. She walked without haste + in the yard, in a white-blue costume that reached to her knees. Zinaida + had a cheerful, simple, sunburnt face. Her strong, bare arms swung lightly + as she walked. It seemed as if the graceful girl were carried upon the + earth without visible effort. + </p> + <p> + The chaste openness of her chaste body naturally aroused hideous thoughts + in the half-drunken idiot. And was it possible to be otherwise in our dark + days? Even in the tale of a poet in love with beauty, the nudity of a + chaste body calls out the judgment of hypocrites and the rage of people + with perverted imaginations, as if it were the arrogant nudity of a + prostitute. The austere virtue of these people is attached to them + externally. It cannot withstand any kind of temptation or enticement. They + know this, and cautiously guard themselves from seduction. But in secret + they console their miserable imaginations with unclean pictures of + back-street lewdness, cheap, and regulated, and almost undangerous for + their health and the welfare of their families. + </p> + <p> + The police sergeant, upon seeing the young girl, so lightly dressed, gave + a lewd smile. His unclean desire stirred in his coarse body under its + slovenly sweaty dress. He beckoned Zinaida to him with his crooked dirty + finger and gave an idiotic laugh. He pushed his faded cap down to the back + of his head. + </p> + <p> + The young girl walked up to the police sergeant with a light easy gait. + Thus walk queens of beloved free lands, barefoot virgins crowned with + white flowers, queens of lands of which our too Parisian age does not + know. + </p> + <p> + The police sergeant whiffed his shag, vodka, and garlic at Zinaida, and + smiling lasciviously, so that the green and the yellow of his crooked + teeth showed conspicuously, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Look-a-here, my pretty girl—d’ye live here?” + </p> + <p> + Zinaida ingenuously marvelled at his red, dirty hands, at his red, + provokingly perspiring face, his big, heavy, mud-bedraggled boots, and all + those external tokens of the deformity of our poor, coarse life. They so + quickly became unused to this deformity here in the valley of their + beloved, innocent, tranquil life. + </p> + <p> + Zinaida replied with an involuntary smile: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I live here in this colony.” + </p> + <p> + The police sergeant asked: + </p> + <p> + “Are you the cook? Or the laundress? What a nice piece of sugar-candy you + are!” + </p> + <p> + He burst into a shrill, neighing laugh, and was about to begin his + offensively affectionate tactics—he lifted his open, tawny hand, and + aimed his forefinger with a black border on a thick yellow finger-nail + towards a place where he might jab, pinch, or tickle the barefoot, + bare-armed girl. But Zinaida, smiling and frowning at the same time, edged + away from him and answered: + </p> + <p> + “I’m an instructress in this school—Zinaida Ouzlova.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant drawled out: + </p> + <p> + “An instructress! You are fibbing!” + </p> + <p> + He did not believe at first that she was an instructress. He thought that + she was the cook, or the washerwoman, who had tucked up her dress in order + to wash, scour, or cook more conveniently; and that she was joking with + him. But after he had scrutinized her face more intently, a face such as a + cook does not have, and her hands, such as a washerwoman does not have—he + suddenly believed. + </p> + <p> + With astonishment and curiosity Zinaida eyed this strange, coarse, + offensively affectionate creature with the heavy sabre in a black sheath + dangling about his legs, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “And who are you?” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant replied with a very important air: + </p> + <p> + “I am the local police sergeant.” + </p> + <p> + He tried to look dignified. + </p> + <p> + “What is it you want here?” asked Zinaida. + </p> + <p> + The sergeant turned to her with a wink and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me, my beauty, have you a runaway boy from town here? His mother + is looking for him, and she’s notified the police. If he’s here with you, + we’ve got to return him to town.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Zinaida. “A town boy did spend a week with us here. We sent + him home only to-day. He’s very likely with his mother now.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant smiled incredulously, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “You’re not fibbing?” + </p> + <p> + Zinaida shrugged her shoulders. She looked sternly at the man, and said in + astonishment: + </p> + <p> + “What are you saying? How is it possible to tell an untruth? And why + should I tell you an untruth?” + </p> + <p> + “How is one to tell?” growled the sergeant. “Once I begin to believe you + there are lots of things you might say.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve told you the truth,” asserted Zinaida once more. + </p> + <p> + “Well, just be careful,” said the sergeant with dignity. “We’ll find out + all the same. You are sure you’ve returned him home?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, home to his mother,” replied Zinaida. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I shall report that to the Captain of the police.” He told a + lie for dignity’s sake. It was the Commissary of the police who sent him + here, and not the Captain. But it was all the same to Zinaida. She had got + quite accustomed to thinking mostly about the children and her work. The + stern reference to the police authorities did not impress her very much. + </p> + <p> + The police sergeant left. He kept up his broad smile. He looked back + several times at the instructress. He was gay and flustered all the way to + town. His thoughts were coarse and detestable. Such are the thoughts of + the savages who take shelter in the grey expanses of our towns—savages + who hide under all sorts of masks, and who strut about in all sorts of + clothes. + </p> + <p> + Zinaida looked sadly after the police sergeant. Coarse recollections of + former days revived in her soul, now full of delicious soothings of a + different, blessed existence created by Trirodov in the quiet coolness of + the beloved wood. Then Zinaida sighed as if awakened from a midday + nightmare. She went quietly her own way. + </p> + <p> + In the course of several days Trirodov’s colony was visited by the + Commissary of the police. He comprehended and considered the chaste world + of the Prosianiya Meadows in the same way as the illiterate sergeant. Only + this consideration expressed itself in a milder form. + </p> + <p> + The Commissary of the police tried to be very amiable. He paid awkward + compliments to Trirodov and his instructresses. But when he looked at the + instructresses the Commissary smiled as detestably as the sergeant. His + small, narrow eyes, which resembled those of a Kalmyk, became oily with + pleasure. His cheeks became covered with a brick-red ruddiness. + </p> + <p> + When the girls walked off to one side he gave a wink at Trirodov in their + direction, and said in a <i>sotto voce</i>: + </p> + <p> + “A flower garden, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov looked severely at the Commissary, who became flustered and + rather angry. He said: + </p> + <p> + “I have come to you, I’m sorry to say, on unpleasant business.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, he came under the pretext of discussing the arrangements of + Egorka’s position. Incidentally, he hinted that the illegal opening of + Egorka’s grave might give cause to an official investigation. Trirodov + gave the Commissary a bribe and treated him to lunch. The Commissary of + the police left in high spirits. + </p> + <p> + At last Trirodov had a visit from the Captain of the police. He had a + gloomy, inaccessible look. He began quite bluntly about the illegal + digging up of Egorka’s grave. Trirodov said: + </p> + <p> + “Surely it was impossible to leave a live boy to suffocate in a grave.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain replied in a rather austere voice: + </p> + <p> + “You should have notified the Prior of the cemetery church of your + suspicions. He would have done all there was to be done.” + </p> + <p> + “But think how much time would have been lost in going after the priest,” + said Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + The Captain, without listening, replied: + </p> + <p> + “It’s irregular. What would become of us if every one should take it into + his head to open up graves! A chap might do it to steal something, and + when he’s caught he might say that he’s heard the corpse was alive and + turning in its grave.” + </p> + <p> + “You know very well,” retorted Trirodov, “that we didn’t go there with the + object of robbery.” + </p> + <p> + But the Captain reiterated harshly and sternly: + </p> + <p> + “It’s irregular.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov invited the Captain to dinner. The Captain’s bribe was, of + course, considerably larger than the Commissary’s. After a sumptuous + dinner and drinks, and the bribe, the Captain suddenly became softer than + wax. He began to dwell on the difficulties and annoyances of his position. + Then Trirodov mentioned the search that had been made lately, and the + beating the instructress Maria received at the police station. The Captain + flushed with embarrassment and said with some warmth: + </p> + <p> + “Upon my honour, it didn’t depend upon me. I must follow orders. Our new + Vice-Governor—forgive the expression—is a regular butcher. + That’s how he’s made his career.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible to make one’s career by such means?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + The Captain spoke animatedly—and it was evident that the career of + the new Vice-Governor agitated his official heart considerably. + </p> + <p> + “The facts must be familiar to you,” he said. “He killed his friend when + he was drunk, was confined in a lunatic asylum, and how he ever got out is + beyond comprehension. With the help of patronage he was given a position + in the District Government and showed himself to be such an asp that every + one marvelled. He quickly galloped into a councillorship. He subdued the + peasants. Of course you must have heard about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Who hasn’t heard about it?” asked Trirodov quietly. + </p> + <p> + “The newspapers have certainly published enough about him,” the Captain + continued. “Sometimes they added a trifle, but this was to his good. It + turned every one’s attention to him. He was made Vice-Governor, and now he + has redoubled his efforts, and is trying to distinguish himself further. + He has an eye on the governorship. He is sure to go a long way. Our own + Governor is on his guard on his account. I need not tell you what a + powerful arm our Governor has in Petersburg. Nevertheless he can’t decide + to thwart Ardalyon Borisovitch.<a href="#linknote-28" name="linknoteref-28" + id="linknoteref-28"><small>28</small></a>” + </p> + <p> + “And yet in spite of that you....” + </p> + <p> + “Do please consider what a time we are living in,” said the Captain. + “There never was anything like it. There is such an unrest among the + peasants that may God have mercy on us. Only the other day they played the + deuce on Khavriukin’s farm. They carried away everything that could be + carried away. The muzhiks even took away all the live stock. A pitiful + case. Khavriukin is considered among the better masters in our government. + He held the peasants in the palm of his hand. And now they’ve paid him + back!” + </p> + <p> + “Howsoever it may have happened,” said Trirodov, “still you did whip my + instructress. That was rather shocking.” + </p> + <p> + “Please!” exclaimed the Captain. “I will personally ask her pardon. Like + an honest man.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov sent for Maria. Maria came. The Captain of the police poured out + his apologies before her, and covered her sunburnt hands with kisses. + Maria was silent. Her face was pale, and her eyes were aflame with anger. + </p> + <p> + The Captain thought cautiously: + </p> + <p> + “Such a woman would not stop at murder.” + </p> + <p> + He made haste to take his leave. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <p> + The educational police also conferred its presence on Trirodov’s school in + the person of the Inspector of the National Schools. + </p> + <p> + The local Inspector of the National Schools, Leonty Andreyevitch Shabalov, + had served all his life in remote, wooded places, and was for that reason + quite an uncivilized being. Tall, robust, shaggy, unharmonious, he + resembled even in external appearance a bear of Vologda or Olonetz. His + face was overgrown with a thick beard. His thick hair crept down his low + forehead towards his eyebrows. His back was broad and somewhat stooped, + like a huge trough. + </p> + <p> + Shabalov frequently said to the instructors and instructresses in his + district in a hoarse drawl: + </p> + <p> + “Batenka<a href="#linknote-29" name="linknoteref-29" id="linknoteref-29"><small>29</small></a> + (or “golubushka"<a href="#linknote-30" name="linknoteref-30" + id="linknoteref-30"><small>30</small></a> if it happened to be an + instructress), brilliant instructors are not necessary. I don’t like + clever men and women, I’m no respecter of modern ladies and dandies. The + chief thing, batenka, in life and in service, is not to put on airs. In my + opinion, batenka, if you perform your State obligations and conduct + yourself peacefully you will find yourself well off. The educational + programme has been worked out by people not more stupid than you and me, + so that you and I needn’t spend our time philosophizing about programmes. + That’s what I think, batenka!” + </p> + <p> + But, notwithstanding all his respect for educational programmes, Shabalov + knew the educational business badly. It would be truer to say that he did + not know it at all. He was hardly interested in it. He was not even very + literate. He received his inspector’s position as a reward for his piety, + patriotism, and correct mode of thinking, rather than for his labours in + the interest of public instruction. He had served in his youth as a class + assistant in the gymnasia. There, by a steady attendance at the gymnasia + chapel and the reading of the apostles in a stentorian voice, he turned + upon himself the attention of an old bigot of a general’s wife. She + procured him the inspector’s position. + </p> + <p> + There was no way in which he could help the young and little-experienced + instructors. When he visited the schools he limited himself to a + superficial examination and gave the pupils several stupid questions, + mostly on matters of piety, of “love towards the Fatherland and national + pride."<a href="#linknote-31" name="linknoteref-31" id="linknoteref-31"><small>31</small></a> + </p> + <p> + Above all, Shabalov loved to collect rumours and gossip. He did this with + great ability and zeal. Every one knew this weakness of his. Consequently + there were many eager to gossip and to inform against some one. There were + even a number of informers among the instructors and instructresses who + wished to gain favour and promotion. Once it was reported to Shabalov that + teachers of both sexes in some of the neighbouring schools had gathered + one holiday eve in one of the schools and sang songs there. He immediately + sent them all a notification composed as follows: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The School District of Rouban. + + No. 2187 + Skorodozh, + 16<i>th of September</i>, 1904. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Inspector of the National Schools of the first + section of the Skorodozh Government. To + Instructor of the Vikhliaevsky one-class + rural school, Ksenofont Polupavlov: + + “Dear Sir, It has come to my knowledge + that on the evening of the 7th of September you + participated at a meeting of instructors and + instructresses, which had been arranged without + the necessary permit, and that you sang there + with them songs of a worldly and reprehensible + character. Therefore, dear sir, I beg you in + the future not to permit yourself similar actions + unbecoming to your schoolmaster’s vocation, + and I herewith warn you that at a repetition of + such behaviour you will be immediately discharged + from the service. + + “Inspector Shabalov.” + </pre> + <p> + On another occasion he wrote to the same instructor: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “On the occasion of an inspection of the schools + of the section intrusted to me, a number of instructors + and instructresses, and you, dear sir, + among that number, have transgressed the limits + of the programme ratified for Primary Schools + by the authorities, in imparting to your pupils + facts from history and geography unnecessary to + the people; and therefore, in confirmation of + certain verbal instructions I have already made + to you in person, I beg you in the future to + maintain strictly the established programmes; + and I warn you that if you fail to comply you + will be discharged from the service.” + </pre> + <p> + Shabalov was particularly displeased with the participation of certain + instructors and instructresses in the local pedagogical circle. This + circle was initiated in the town of Skorodozh some three years before by + the gymnasia instructor Bodeyev and the town school instructor Voronok. + The circle discussed various questions of upbringing, instruction, and + school affairs generally which interested in those years many teachers and + parents. Some of the members read their reports here. It was particularly + provoking to Shabalov that these reports occasionally recounted certain + episodes in school life and eccentricities of the educational authorities. + Shabalov wanted to discharge the audacious ones. The District School + Council did not agree with him. Then followed a long and unpleasant + discussion, out of which Shabalov did not issue as conqueror. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov found it painful and difficult to talk with Shabalov. + </p> + <p> + Shabalov said in a slow, creaking voice: + </p> + <p> + “Giorgiy Sergeyevitch, you will have to send your wards to town for + examination.” + </p> + <p> + “Why is it necessary?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + Shabalov laughed his creaking “he-he” laugh and said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s necessary. We’ll give them certificates.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the use of your certificates to them?” asked Trirodov. “They need + knowledge and not certificates. Your certificates won’t feed their + hunger.” + </p> + <p> + “The certificates are necessary for military service,” explained Shabalov. + </p> + <p> + “They will remain pupils here,” said Trirodov, “until they are ready for + practical work or for scientific and artistic occupations. Then some of + them will go to technical schools, others to universities. Why, then, + should they have certificates for a course in a Primary School?” + </p> + <p> + Shabalov repeated dully and stubbornly: + </p> + <p> + “Things are not done that way. Your school is counted among the Primary + Schools. Those who have completed the course should receive certificates. + How else can it be?—judge for yourself! And if you wish to go beyond + the primary course, then you’ll have to procure for yourself a private + gymnasia or a professional school, or, if you like, a commercial one. But + what you want is impossible. And, of course, you’d have to engage real + teachers in place of your cheap barefoots.” + </p> + <p> + “My barefoots,” retorted Trirodov, “have the same diplomas and learning as + the real teachers, to use your expression. It is strange that you do not + know or realize that fact. And they receive such ample pay from me that I + should hesitate to call them cheap. Generally speaking, it seems to me + that in its relation to private schools the so-called educational council + would do well to limit itself to an external police surveillance of a + purely negative character. They should merely see whether we commit + anything of a criminal nature. But what business have you with the + direction of schools? You have so few schools of your own, and yet they + are so poor that you have quite a time to attend to them.” + </p> + <p> + Shabalov, somewhat subdued, replied: + </p> + <p> + “Still, the examination will have to be held. Surely you understand that? + And the Headmaster of the National Schools is anxious to be present at the + examination. We have our instructions from the Ministry, and it is + impossible to discuss the matter. Our business is to execute orders.” + </p> + <p> + “Come here yourselves if it is absolutely necessary to hold an + examination,” said Trirodov coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Shabalov upon reflection. “I will report your wish to + the Headmaster of the National Schools. I don’t know how he will look upon + the matter, but I will make my report.” + </p> + <p> + Then he reflected again briefly. He rubbed his back, covered by its blue + official frock, against the back of his chair—the greasy, faded + cloth against the handsome dark-green leather—and said: + </p> + <p> + “If the Headmaster agrees to it, we will appoint the day and send you the + notification, that you may expect us.” + </p> + <p> + In the course of a few days Shabalov sent the announcement that the + examination in Trirodov’s school was appointed to be held on May 30, at + ten o’clock in the morning, on the premises. + </p> + <p> + This meddling on the part of the educational police annoyed Trirodov, but + he had to submit to it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX + </h2> + <p> + Kirsha was acquainted with many boys in town. Some of them were pupils of + the gymnasia, some of the town school. Kirsha was also acquainted with + some of the students who attended the girls’ gymnasia. He told his father + a great deal about the affairs and ways of these institutions. His + information contained much that was singular and unexpected. + </p> + <p> + The personality of the Headmaster of the National Schools, Doulebov, + particularly interested Trirodov of late. The schools under his guidance + included the school established by Trirodov, though Doulebov contributed + nothing to the school. He conducted himself with complete indifference to + the aspersions cast at Priest Zakrasin and did not defend him before the + Diocesan Bishop. He and his subordinate, the Inspector, showered official + papers upon Trirodov and demanded various reports in the established form, + so that Trirodov had to prevail upon a small official of the Exchequer to + come evenings and copy out all this absurd nonsense. But neither Doulebov + nor Shabalov looked in even once into Trirodov’s school. When Trirodov + happened to be in the Headmaster’s office the conversation usually turned + on documents concerning the instructresses and various petty formalities. + </p> + <p> + The calumnies of Ostrov and of his friends in the Black Hundred disturbed + Doulebov. To avoid unpleasantness Doulebov decided to take advantage of + the first opportunity to close Trirodov’s school. + </p> + <p> + The Headmaster of the National Schools, Actual State Councillor, Grigory + Vladimirovitch Doulebov, had his eye on a higher position in the + educational department. That was why he tried to gain favour by showing a + meticulous attentiveness to his duties. His perseverance was astonishing. + He never gave an impression of haste. His reception of subordinates and + petitioners, announced on a placard on his door to take place on Thursdays + between one and three, actually began at eleven in the morning, and + continued until late in the evening. Doulebov spoke with each visitor + slowly and showed his interest in the slightest detail. + </p> + <p> + But Doulebov, of course, knew very well that however great was his + attentiveness to his duties, that in itself would not take him very far. + It was indispensable to cultivate the proper personages. Doulebov had no + influential aunts and grandmothers, and he had to make efforts on his own + behalf. And in the whole course of his twenty-five years’ service, + beginning as a gymnasia instructor, Doulebov uninterruptedly and skilfully + concerned himself with establishing improved relations with all who were + higher in rank than he or equal with him. He even made an effort to keep + on good terms with the younger set—that was for an emergency; for—who + can tell?—the younger sometimes go ahead of the old, and, being + young, they might do one an injury—or a good service—when the + opportunity offered. + </p> + <p> + Never to commit an untactful action—in that consisted the chief + precept of Doubelov’s life. He knew very well that this or that action was + not good in itself, and that the chief thing was “how they would look upon + it”—they, that is, the authorities. The authorities were favourably + inclined towards Doulebov. He had already been almost promised an + assistantship to the head of the Educational District. + </p> + <p> + Doulebov adopted an attitude towards his subordinates consistent with this + personal attitude. To those who acted respectfully towards him and his + wife he gave his patronage and made efforts to improve their position. He + defended them in unpleasant situations, though very cautiously, in order + not to hurt his own position. He was not very fond of those who were + disrespectful and independent, and he hindered them all he could. + </p> + <p> + Recognizing a rising luminary in the newly appointed Vice-Governor, who + lately had been a Councillor in the District Government, Doulebov tried to + come into agreeable relations with him also. But he conducted himself + towards him very cautiously, so that he might not be suspected of too + intimate relations with this evil, morose, badly trained man and his + vulgar wife. + </p> + <p> + Doulebov had pleasant manners, a youngish face, and a slender voice which + resembled the squeal of a young pig. He was light and agile in his + movements. No one had ever seen him drunk, and as a visitor he either did + not drink at all or limited himself to a glass of Madeira. He was always + accompanied by his wife. It was said that she managed all his affairs, and + that Doulebov obeyed her implicitly in everything. + </p> + <p> + The wife of the Headmaster, Zinaida Grigorievna, was a plump, energetic, + and shrewish woman. Her short hair was beginning to get grey. She was very + jealous of her influence and maintained it with great energy. + </p> + <p> + At Doulebov’s invitation the Vice-Governor visited the town school. In + inviting the Vice-Governor Doulebov had especially in view the idea of + taking him to the Trirodov school. In the event of the school being + closed, he wanted to say that it was done at the instigation of the + governmental authorities. But Doulebov did not wish to invite the + Vice-Governor direct to Trirodov’s school, so as to give no one any reason + for saying that he did it on purpose. That was why he persuaded the + Vice-Governor to come to the examination at the town school on the eve of + the day appointed for the examinations at the Trirodov school. + </p> + <p> + The town school was situated in one of the dirty side streets. Its + exterior was highly unattractive. The dirty, dilapidated wooden structure + seemed as if it were built for a tavern rather than for a school. This did + not prevent Doulebov from saying to the inspector of the school: + </p> + <p> + “The new Vice-Governor will visit you to-day. I invited him to you because + you have such a fine school.” + </p> + <p> + Inspector Poterin, fawning before Doulebov and his wife, said in a + flustered way: + </p> + <p> + “Our building is anything but showy.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebov smiled amiably and replied encouragingly: + </p> + <p> + “The building is not the important thing. The school itself is good. The + instruction is to be valued and not the walls.” + </p> + <p> + The Vice-Governor arrived rather late, at eleven, together with Zherbenev, + who was an honorary overseer of the school. + </p> + <p> + There was a very tense feeling in the school. The instructors and the + students alike trembled before the authorities. Stupid and vulgar scenes + with the Headmaster in the town school were common with Doulebov and did + not embarrass him. As for Doulebov and his wife, they were fully alive to + their importance. They had received only two or three days before definite + news of the appointment of Doulebov as assistant to the head of the + Educational Department. + </p> + <p> + Inspector Shabalov arrived at the school very early that day. He occupied + himself with attentions to Zinaida Grigorievna Doulebova, to whom he + showed various services with an unexpected and rather vulgar amiableness. + </p> + <p> + The instructor-inspector, Mikhail Prokopievitch Poterin, conducted himself + like a lackey. It was even evident at times that he trembled before the + Doulebovs. What reason had he to be afraid? He was a great patriot—a + member of the Black Hundred. He accepted bribes, beat his pupils, drank + considerably—and he always got off easily. + </p> + <p> + Zinaida Grigorievna Doulebova examined the graduating classes in French + and English. These studies were optional. Inspector Poterin’s wife gave + instruction in French. She had not yet fully mastered the Berlitz method, + and looked at the Doulebovs cringingly. But at heart she was bitter—at + her poverty, abjectness, and dependence. + </p> + <p> + Poterin knew no languages; but he was also present here, and hissed + malignantly at those who answered awkwardly or did not answer at all: + </p> + <p> + “Blockhead! Numskull!” + </p> + <p> + Doulebova sat motionless and made no sign that she heard this zealous + hissing and these coarse words. She would give freedom to her tongue + later, at luncheon. + </p> + <p> + A luncheon had been prepared for the visitors and the instructors. It cost + Poterin’s wife much trouble and anxiety. The table was set in the large + room, where on ordinary days the small boys made lively and wrangled in + recess-time. They were excluded on this day, and raised a racket outside. + </p> + <p> + Doulebova sat at the head of the table, between the Vice-Governor and + Zherbenev; Doulebov sat next to the Vice-Governor. A pie was brought in; + then tea. Zinaida Grigorievna abused the instructors’ wives and the + instructresses. She loved gossip—indeed, who does not? The + instructors’ wives gossiped to her. + </p> + <p> + During the luncheon the small boys, having resumed their places in the + neighbouring class, sang: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>What songs, what songs, + Our Russia does sing. + Do what you like—though you burst, + Frenchman, you’ll never sing like that</i>. +</pre> + <p> + And other songs in the same spirit. + </p> + <p> + Doulebov wiped his face with his right hand—like a cat licking its + paw—and piped out: + </p> + <p> + “I hear that the Marquis Teliatnikov is to pay us a visit soon.” + </p> + <p> + “We are not within his jurisdiction,” said Poterin. + </p> + <p> + But his whole face became distorted with apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” said Doulebov in his thin voice, “he possesses great + powers. He can do what he likes.” + </p> + <p> + The Vice-Governor looked gloomily at Poterin and said morosely: + </p> + <p> + “He’s going to pull you all up.” + </p> + <p> + Poterin grew deathly pale and broke out into perspiration. The + conversation about the Marquis Teliatnikov continued, and the local + revolutionary ferment was mentioned in the course of it. + </p> + <p> + Revolutionary proclamations had appeared in all the woods of the + neighbourhood. Large pieces of bark were cut off the trees and + proclamations pasted on. It was impossible to remove these bills, which + were overrun by a thin, transparent coating of resin. The zealous + preservers of order had either to chop out or to scrape off the obnoxious + places with a knife. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Doulebova, “that it must be an idea of our chemist, Mr. + Trirodov.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” She was confirmed in her suggestion by the cringing, + dry-looking instructress of German. + </p> + <p> + Zinaida Grigorievna turned towards Poterina in order to show favour to her + hostess by her conversation, and asked her with an amused smile: + </p> + <p> + “How do you like our celebrated Decadent?” + </p> + <p> + The instructress tried to understand. An expression of fear showed on her + flat, dull face. She asked timidly: + </p> + <p> + “Whom do you mean, Zinaida Grigorievna?” + </p> + <p> + “Whom else could I mean but Mr. Trirodov,” replied Doulebova malignantly. + </p> + <p> + The malice was all on Trirodov’s account, but nevertheless Poterina + trembled with fear. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, Trirodov; how then, how then....” she repeated in a worried, + flustered way, and was at a loss what to say. + </p> + <p> + Doulebova said bitingly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t think he laughs very often. He ought to be to your taste.” + </p> + <p> + “To my taste!” exclaimed Poterina with a flushed face. “What are you + saying, Zinaida Grigorievna! As the old saying goes: ‘The Tsar’s servant + has been bent into a harness arch!’” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he always looks askance at you and talks to no one,” said the wife + of the instructor Krolikov; “but he is a very kind man.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebova turned her malignant glance upon her. Krolikova grew pale with + fear, and guessed that she had not said the right thing. She corrected + herself: + </p> + <p> + “He is a kind man in his words.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebova smiled at her benevolently. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what I think?” said Zherbenev, addressing himself to + Doulebova. “I have seen many men in my time, I may say without boasting; + and in my opinion, it is a very bad sign that he looks askance at you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” agreed Poterina. “That is the honest truth!” + </p> + <p> + “Let a man look me straight in my face,” went on Zherbenev. “But the quiet + ones....” + </p> + <p> + Zherbenev did not finish his sentence. Doulebova said: + </p> + <p> + “Frankly, I don’t like your poet. I can’t understand him. There is + something strange about him—something disagreeable.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s altogether suspicious,” said Zherbenev with the look of a person who + knew a great deal. + </p> + <p> + It was asserted that Trirodov and others were collecting money for an + armed revolt. At this they looked significantly at Voronok. Voronok + retorted, but he was not heard. There was an outburst of malignant remarks + against Trirodov. It was said that there was a secret underground printing + establishment in Trirodov’s house, and that not only the instructresses + worked there but also Trirodov’s young wards. The women exclaimed in + horror: + </p> + <p> + “They are mere tots!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of your tots now?” + </p> + <p> + “There are no children nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve just heard,” said Voronok, “that a nine-year-old boy is kept in + confinement by the police.” + </p> + <p> + “The young rebel!” said the Vice-Governor savagely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I’ve also heard,” said Poterin, “that a thirteen-year-old boy + has been arrested. Such a little beggar, and already in revolt.” + </p> + <p> + The Vice-Governor said morosely: + </p> + <p> + “He’s going with his grandfather to Siberia.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Voronok with a flushed face. + </p> + <p> + “He laughed,” growled the Vice-Governor morosely. + </p> + <p> + Doulebov turned to Poterin and asked in a loud voice: + </p> + <p> + “And I hope you have no rebels in your school.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank God, I have nothing of that kind,” replied Poterin. “But, to + tell the truth, the children are very loose nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebov, with a patronizing amiableness, said again to him: + </p> + <p> + “You have a good school. Everything is in exemplary order.” + </p> + <p> + Poterin grew radiant and boasted: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know how to pull them up. I treat them sternly.” + </p> + <p> + “A salutary sternness,” said Doulebov. + </p> + <p> + Encouraged by these words, the instructor-inspector asked: + </p> + <p> + “Do you think one might also beat them?” + </p> + <p> + Doulebov avoided a direct answer. He wiped his face with his hand—like + a cat using its paw—and changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + They began touching recollections about the good old times. They began to + relate how, where, and whom they birched. + </p> + <p> + “They birch even now,” said Shabalov with a quiet joy. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI + </h2> + <p> + After luncheon they went into the assembly room. Some of them began to + smoke. Instructor Mouralov’s wife took advantage of an opportune moment to + speak to Doulebova. She cautiously stole up to her when she saw her + standing aside and told her that Poterin took bribes. Separate phrases and + words were distinguished from the rest of the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Have you noticed, Zinaida Grigorievna?” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + “Our inspector is parading in gloves.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Gloves! Yellow ones!” + </p> + <p> + “What of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Out of bribes.” + </p> + <p> + Zinaida Grigorievna was overjoyed, and grew animated. For a long time the + whispers of the malicious women were audible, and between their whispers + their hissing, snake-like laughter. + </p> + <p> + Then the women, together with Shabalov and Voronok, went off to finish the + examination. Doulebov and the Vice-Governor went in to look at the + library. Poterin accompanied them. Everything was in order. The thick + volumes of Katkov<a href="#linknote-32" name="linknoteref-32" + id="linknoteref-32"><small>32</small></a> quietly slumbered; the dust had + been wiped from them on the eve of the Vice-Governor’s visit. + </p> + <p> + Poterin made use of an opportunity to make insinuations against the + instructors. He reported that Voronok did not go to church, and that he + collected schoolboys at his own house in order to read something or other + to them. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to have a talk with him,” said Doulebov. “Ask him into your + study and I will talk to him. In the meantime, show Ardalyon Borisovitch + the laboratory.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebov and Voronok spoke for a long time in Poterin’s study. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t question your convictions,” said the Headmaster, “but I must make + it clear to you that it is impossible to introduce politics into schools. + Children cannot discuss such questions; it does them harm.” + </p> + <p> + “Agents’ reports are not always to be believed,” said Voronok + restrainedly. + </p> + <p> + Doulebov flushed slightly and said in an annoyed manner. + </p> + <p> + “We don’t maintain agents, but we have many acquaintances. We have lived + here a long time. It is impossible not to hear what is told us.” + </p> + <p> + The honorary overseer, Zherbenev, invited all who attended the examination + to his house to dinner. Only Voronok refused the invitation. But Zherbenev + invited others to the dinner—the general’s widow, Glafira Pavlovna, + and Kerbakh among them. It was a long and lavish dinner. The guests drank + much during and after the meal. Every one got tipsy. Doulebov alone + remained sober. The liqueurs only made him look slightly ruddier—he + was very fond of them. + </p> + <p> + The members of the Black Hundred took advantage of the occasion to say + something malicious about Trirodov to Doulebov and the Vice-Governor. The + Trirodov school began to be discussed rather vulgarly. + </p> + <p> + “He’s taken up photography; quite keen on it.” + </p> + <p> + “He calls in children, makes them take everything off, and photographs + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he’s got naked children running about in the woods.” + </p> + <p> + “Children? The instructresses too!” + </p> + <p> + “They may not be exactly naked, but they are always running about + barefoot.” + </p> + <p> + “Just like peasant women,” said Zherbenev. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Vice-Governor. “It is very immoral for women to go about + barefoot. It must be stopped.” + </p> + <p> + “They are poor people,” said some one. + </p> + <p> + “It is pornography!” said the Vice-Governor savagely. + </p> + <p> + And every one suddenly believed him. The Vice-Governor said morosely: + </p> + <p> + “He’s lodged a complaint against us for whipping his instructress. But he + is lying; he’s whipped her himself. We have no need of whipping girls—but + he does it because he’s a corrupt man.” + </p> + <p> + Some one made the observation that Trirodov was friends with dangerous + sects, at which Kerbakh remarked: + </p> + <p> + “He now has horses and carriages, but I know a man who knew him when he + had only his shirt. It is rather suspicious as to where he got his money.” + </p> + <p> + Glafira Pavlovna looked at Shabalov and whispered to Doulebov: + </p> + <p> + “I know he is a patriot, but he has terrible manners.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebov said: + </p> + <p> + “I know he is very stupid and undeveloped, but zealous. If directed + properly he can be very useful.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Next morning the Headmaster of the National Schools, accompanied by the + Vice-Governor and Shabalov, started in their carriages from the + Headmaster’s offices and drove off to Trirodov’s school in the Prosianiya + Meadows. They had not yet fully recovered from the previous day’s carouse. + They carried on their indecent, half-tipsy conversations in the midst of + nature’s loveliness. They looked like a lot of picnickers. + </p> + <p> + Zinaida Grigorievna and Kerbakh, who were in one carriage, were engaged in + a malicious conversation. They tore their acquaintances to shreds. She + began with Poterin’s gloves. Then she related about the suicide of another + inspector’s mistress; she drowned herself because she was about to have a + child. Then she told about a third inspector who got drunk in a bath-house + and got into a tussle there with the mayor of the town. + </p> + <p> + Shabalov was riding in a trap with Zherbenev. + </p> + <p> + “It would be good to have a tasty snack,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “We are sure to get something there,” replied Zherbenev confidently. + </p> + <p> + The visitors were all confident that they were being awaited. Zinaida + Grigorievna said: + </p> + <p> + “The most interesting part of it will be hidden of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but we’ll investigate.” + </p> + <p> + It was a fresh, early morning. The road went through the wood. They had + now driven for a long time. It seemed as if the same meadows and woods, + copses, streams, and bridges repeated themselves again and again. They + began to ask the drivers: + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure you’re going the right way?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you’ve lost your way.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s in that direction.” + </p> + <p> + The two towers of Trirodov’s house soon became visible. They appeared to + the right, and yet it was impossible to find the way to them. For a long + time they blundered. The roads spread and branched out at this point. At + last the driver of the first carriage stopped his horses, and behind it + the other carriages came to a standstill. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have to ask some one,” said the driver. “There’s some sort of a boy + coming this way.” + </p> + <p> + A ten-year-old, barefoot boy could be seen coming down the road from the + wood. Shabalov shouted savagely at him: + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” + </p> + <p> + The boy glanced at the carriages and calmly walked on. Shabalov cried more + furiously this time: + </p> + <p> + “Stop, you young brat! Off with your cap! Don’t you see that gentlemen are + coming—why don’t you bow to them?” + </p> + <p> + The boy paused. He looked in astonishment at the variety of carriages and + did not take his cap off. Doulebova decided: + </p> + <p> + “He’s simply an idiot!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we shall make him talk,” said Kerbakh. + </p> + <p> + He left his carriage and, going up to the boy, asked him: + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where Trirodov’s school is?” + </p> + <p> + The boy silently pointed to one of the roads with his hand. Then he ran + off quickly, and disappeared somewhere among the bushes. + </p> + <p> + At last the road went along a fence. Everything all around seemed deserted + and quiet. Evidently no one awaited the visitors or had arranged to meet + them. + </p> + <p> + Finally they reached the gates of the enclosure. They looked around. It + was very quiet. No one was visible anywhere. Shabalov jumped out of his + trap and began to look for the bell. Madame Doulebova said in great + irritation: + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of that?” + </p> + <p> + They tried to open the small gate by themselves but were unable. Shabalov + cried out: + </p> + <p> + “Open the gate! You devils, demons, sinners!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Doulebova tried to soothe Shabalov, who justified himself: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Zinaida Grigorievna. It is most annoying. If I had come + myself I shouldn’t have minded waiting, though even then it would have + been discourteous—being, after all, an official. And here the higher + authorities have announced their coming, and these people pay absolutely + no attention to it.” + </p> + <p> + At last the small gate opened, suddenly and noiselessly. A boy, sunburnt + and barefoot, in a white shirt and short white breeches, stood on the + threshold. The angry Doulebov said in his thin, shrill voice: + </p> + <p> + “Is this Trirodov’s school?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + The visitors entered and found themselves in a small glade. Three barefoot + girls slowly came to meet them. These were instructresses. Nadezhda + Vestchezerova looked with her large dark eyes at Madame Doulebova, who + whispered to the Vice-Governor: + </p> + <p> + “Have a look at her. This girl had a scandal in her life, but he’s taken + her on.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebova knew every one in town, and she knew especially well those who + have had an unpleasant experience of some sort. + </p> + <p> + Presently Trirodov appeared in a white summer suit. He looked with an + ironic smile at the gaily dressed party of visitors. + </p> + <p> + The visitors were met with courtesy; but the Headmaster was displeased + because no honour was shown them and no special preparations were evident. + The instructresses were dressed as simply as always. Doulebov was + especially displeased because both the instructresses and their pupils + walked about barefoot. The naïveté of the children irritated the visitors. + The children looked at the party indifferently. Some of them nodded a + greeting, others did not. + </p> + <p> + “Take off your cap!” shouted Shabalov. + </p> + <p> + The boy pulled his cap off and reached it out to Shabalov with the remark: + </p> + <p> + “Here!” + </p> + <p> + Shabalov growled savagely: + </p> + <p> + “Idiot!” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned away. The boy looked at him in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + Doulebov, and even more his wife, were terribly annoyed because they had + not put on more clothes for their visitors, not even shoes. The + Vice-Governor looked dully and savagely. Everything displeased him at + once. Doulebov asked with a frown: + </p> + <p> + “Surely they are not always like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Always, Vladimir Grigorievitch,” replied Trirodov. “They have got used to + it.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is indecent!” said Madame Doulebova. + </p> + <p> + “It is the one thing that is decent,” retorted Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII + </h2> + <p> + The windows of the house in the small glade were wide open. The twitter of + birds was audible and the fresh, delicious aroma of flowers entered in. It + was here the children gathered, and the miserable farce of the examination + began. Doulebov stood up before an ikon on one side of the room, assumed a + stately air, and exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Children, rise to prayer.” + </p> + <p> + The children rose. Doulebov thrust a finger forward towards a dark-eyed + boy’s breast and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Read, boy!” + </p> + <p> + The thin, shrill outcry and the movement of the finger towards the child’s + breast were so unexpected by the boy that he trembled and gave a choking + sound. Some one behind him laughed, another gave an amused chuckle. + Doulebova exchanged glances with Kerbakh and shrugged her shoulders; her + face expressed horror. + </p> + <p> + The boy quickly recovered himself and read the prayer. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, children,” ordered Doulebov. + </p> + <p> + The children resumed their places, while the elders seated themselves at a + table in the order of their rank—the Vice-Governor and Doulebov in + the middle, with the others to their right and left. Doulebova looked + round with an anxious, angry expression. At last she said in a bass voice, + extraordinarily coarse for a woman: + </p> + <p> + “Shut the windows. The birds are making a noise, and the wind too; it is + impossible to do anything.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov looked at her in astonishment. He said quietly to Nadezhda: + </p> + <p> + “Close the windows. Our guests can’t stand fresh air.” + </p> + <p> + The windows were shut. The children looked with melancholy tedium at the + depressing window-panes. + </p> + <p> + Writing exercises were given. A little tale was read aloud from a reader + brought by Shabalov. Doulebov asked the class to compose it in their own + words. + </p> + <p> + The boys and girls were about to pick up their pens, but Doulebov stopped + them and delivered a long and tedious dissertation on how to write the + given composition. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + “Now you can write it.” + </p> + <p> + The children wrote. It was quiet. The writers handed in their papers to + their instructresses. Doulebov and Shabalov looked them over there and + then. They tried to find mistakes, but there were few. Then dictation was + given. + </p> + <p> + Doulebova looked morosely the whole while and blinked often. Trirodov + tried to enter into conversation with her, but the angry dame answered so + haughtily that it was with great difficulty he refrained from smiling, and + finally he left the malicious woman to herself. + </p> + <p> + After the written exercises Trirodov asked the uninvited guests to + luncheon. + </p> + <p> + “It was such a long journey here,” said Doulebov as if he were explaining + why he did not refuse the invitation to eat. + </p> + <p> + The children scattered a short way into the wood, while the elders went + into a neighbouring house, where the luncheon was ready. The conversation + during luncheon was constrained and captious. The Doulebovs tried all + sorts of pinpricks and coarse insinuations; their companions followed + suit. Every one tried to outdo the other in saying caustic, spiteful + things. + </p> + <p> + Doulebov looked with simulated horror at Trirodov’s instructresses who + happened to be present, and whispered to Kerbakh: + </p> + <p> + “Their feet are soiled with earth.” + </p> + <p> + After luncheon they returned to the school. All resumed their former + places. Then the oral examination began. Doulebov bent over the roll-call + and called out three boys at once. Each of them was questioned first about + the Holy Scriptures, and immediately afterwards about the Russian language + and arithmetic. + </p> + <p> + The examiners cavilled at everything. Nothing satisfied Doulebov. He gave + questions the answers to which were bound to make evident whether higher + feelings were being instilled in the children—of love for the + Fatherland, of allegiance to the Tsar, and of devotion to the Orthodox + Church. He asked one boy: + </p> + <p> + “Which country is better, Russia or France?” + </p> + <p> + The boy thought a while and said: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. It depends upon which place a man is used to—there he + is better off.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebova laughed viperously. Shabalov said in a preceptorial manner: + </p> + <p> + “The orthodox <i>matushka</i><a href="#linknote-33" name="linknoteref-33" + id="linknoteref-33"><small>33</small></a> Russia! Is it possible to + compare any kingdom with ours? Have you heard how our native land is + called? Holy Russia, Mother Russia, the holy Russian soil. And you are an + idiot, blockhead, a little swine. If you don’t like your Fatherland what + are you good for?” + </p> + <p> + The boy flushed. Tiny tears gleamed in his eyes. Doulebov asked: + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me what is the very best faith in this world.” + </p> + <p> + The boy fell into thought. Shabalov asked malignantly: + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you answer even that?” + </p> + <p> + The boy said: + </p> + <p> + “When one believes sincerely, then it is the very best faith for him.” + </p> + <p> + “What a blockhead!” said Shabalov with conviction. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov looked at him in astonishment. He said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “The sincerity of religious mood is surely the best indication of a saving + faith.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll discuss that later,” piped out Doulebov sternly. “This is not a + convenient moment.” + </p> + <p> + “As you like,” said Trirodov with a smile. “It is all the same to me when + you discuss it.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebov, red with agitation, rose from his chair and, going up to + Trirodov, said to him: + </p> + <p> + “It is absolutely necessary that I should have a talk with you.” + </p> + <p> + “At your service,” said Trirodov, not without some astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Please continue,” said Doulebov to Shabalov. + </p> + <p> + Doulebov and Trirodov went into the next room. Their conversation soon + assumed a very sharp character. Doulebov made some savage accusations and + said rather vehemently: + </p> + <p> + “I have heard improper things about your school, but, indeed, the reality + exceeds all expectations.” + </p> + <p> + “What is there precisely improper?” asked Trirodov. “In what way has + reality surpassed gossip?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t collect gossip,” squealed Doulebov excitedly. “I see with my own + eyes. This is not a school but a pornography!” + </p> + <p> + His voice had already passed into piggish tones. He struck the table with + his palm. There was the hard sound of the wedding-ring against the wood. + Trirodov said: + </p> + <p> + “I too have heard that you were a man with self-control. But this is not + the first time to-day that I’ve noticed your violent movements.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebov made an effort to recover himself. He said more quietly: + </p> + <p> + “It is a revolting pornography!” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you call pornography?” asked Trirodov. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know?” said Doulebov with a sarcastic smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Trirodov. “In my conception every written lechery and + disfigurement of beautiful truth to gratify the low instincts of the + man-beast—that is pornography. Your thrice-assured State school—that + is the true example of pornography.” + </p> + <p> + “They walk about naked here!” squealed Doulebov. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov retorted: + </p> + <p> + “They will be healthier and cleaner than those children who leave your + school.” + </p> + <p> + Doulebov shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Even your instructresses walk about naked. You’ve taken on depraved girls + as instructresses.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov replied calmly: + </p> + <p> + “That’s a lie!” + </p> + <p> + The Headmaster said sharply and excitedly: + </p> + <p> + “Your school—if this awful, impossible establishment can be called a + school—will be closed at once. I will make the application to the + District to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov replied sharply: + </p> + <p> + “That you can do.” + </p> + <p> + Soon the visitors left in an ugly frame of mind. Doulebova hissed and + waxed indignant the whole way back. + </p> + <p> + “He’s clearly a dangerous man,” observed Kerbakh. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII + </h2> + <p> + Piotr and Rameyev arrived at Trirodov’s together. Rameyev more than once + said to Piotr that he had been very rude to Trirodov, and that he ought to + smooth out matters somehow. Piotr agreed very unwillingly. + </p> + <p> + Once more they talked about the war.<a href="#linknote-34" + name="linknoteref-34" id="linknoteref-34"><small>34</small></a> Trirodov + asked Rameyev: + </p> + <p> + “I think you see only a political significance in this war.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you disagree with me?” asked Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Trirodov, “I admit that. But, in my opinion, aside from the + stupid and criminal actions of these or other individuals, there are more + general causes. History has its own dialectic. Whether or not a war had + taken place is all the same: there would have been a fated collision in + any case, in one or another form; there would have begun the decisive + struggle between two worlds, two comprehensions of the world, two + moralities, Buddha and Christ.” + </p> + <p> + “The teachings of Buddhism resemble those of Christianity considerably,” + said Piotr. “That is its only value.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Trirodov. “There appears to be a great resemblance at the + first glance; but actually these two systems are as opposite as the poles. + They are the affirmation and the denial of life, its Yes and its No, its + irony and its lyricism. The affirmation, Yes, is Christianity; the denial, + No, is Buddhism.” + </p> + <p> + “That seems to me to be too much of a generalization,” said Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov continued: + </p> + <p> + “I generalize for the sake of clearness. The present moment in history is + especially convenient. It is history’s zenith hour. Now that Christianity + has revealed the eternal contradiction of the world, we are passing + through the poignant struggle of those two world conceptions.” + </p> + <p> + “And not the struggle of the classes?” asked Rameyev. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Trirodov, “there is also the struggle of the classes, to + whatever degree two inimical factors enter into the struggle—social + justice and the real relation of forces—a common morality, which is + always static, and a common dynamism. The Christian element is in + morality, the Buddhistic in dynamism. Indeed, the weakness of Europe + consists in that its life has already for a long time nourished itself on + a substance Buddhistic in origin.” + </p> + <p> + Piotr said confidently, in the voice of a young prophet: + </p> + <p> + “In this duel Christianity will triumph—not the historic + Christianity, of course, and not the present, but the Christianity of St. + John and the Apocalypse. And it will triumph only then when everything + will appear lost, and the world will be in the power of the yellow + Antichrist.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think that will happen,” said Trirodov quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you think Buddha will triumph,” said Piotr in vexation. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Trirodov calmly. + </p> + <p> + “The devil, perhaps!” exclaimed Piotr. + </p> + <p> + “Petya!” exclaimed Rameyev reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov lowered his head slightly, as if he were confused, and said + tranquilly: + </p> + <p> + “We see two currents, equally powerful. It would be strange that either + one of them should conquer. That is impossible. It is impossible to + destroy half of the whole historical energy.” + </p> + <p> + “However,” said Piotr, “if neither Christ nor Buddha conquers, what awaits + us? Or is that fool Guyau right when he speaks of the irreligiousness of + future generations?"<a href="#linknote-35" name="linknoteref-35" + id="linknoteref-35"><small>35</small></a> + </p> + <p> + “There will be a synthesis,” replied Trirodov. “You will accept it for the + devil.” + </p> + <p> + “This contradictory mixture is worse than forty devils!” exclaimed Piotr. + </p> + <p> + The visitors soon left. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha came without being called—confused and agitated by an + indefinable something. He was silent, and his dark eyes flamed with + sadness and fear. He walked up to the window, looked out in an attitude of + expectancy. He seemed to see something in the distance. There was a look + of apprehension in his dark, wide-open eyes, as if they were fixed on a + strange distant vision. Thus people look during a hallucination. + </p> + <p> + Kirsha turned to his father and, growing pale, said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Father, a visitor has come to you from quite afar. How strange that he + has come in a simple carriage and in ordinary clothes! I wonder why he has + come?” + </p> + <p> + They could hear the crunching sound of the sand under the iron hoops of + the wheels of the calash which had just entered the gates. Kirsha’s face + wore a gloomy expression. It was difficult to comprehend what was in his + soul—was it a reproach?—astonishment?—fear? + </p> + <p> + Trirodov went to the window. A man of about forty, impressive for his + appearance of calm and self-assurance, stepped out of the calash. Trirodov + recognized his visitor at the first glance, though he had never met him + before in society. He knew him well, but only from portraits he had seen + of him, from his literary works, and from the stories of his admirers and + articles about him. In his youth Trirodov had had some slight relations + with him through friends, but this was interrupted. He had not even met + him. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov suddenly felt both cheerful and sad. He reflected: + </p> + <p> + “Why has he come to me? What does he want of me? And why should he + suddenly think of me? Our roads have diverged so much, we have become such + strangers to one another.” + </p> + <p> + There was his disturbing curiosity: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll see and hear him for the first time.” + </p> + <p> + And the mutinous protest: + </p> + <p> + “His words are a lie! His preachings the ravings of despair. There was no + miracle, there is none, and there will not be!” + </p> + <p> + Kirsha, very agitated, ran out of the room. The sensitive and painful + feeling of aloneness seized Trirodov as in a sticky net, entangled his + legs, and obstructed his glances with grey. + </p> + <p> + A quiet boy entered, smiling, and handed him a card, on which, under a + princely crown, was the lithographed inscription: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Immanuel Osipovitch Davidov</i>.<a href="#linknote-36" name="linknoteref-36" + id="linknoteref-36">36</a> +</pre> + <p> + In a voice dark and deep with suppressed excitement Trirodov said to the + boy: + </p> + <p> + “Ask him to come in.” + </p> + <p> + The provoking and unanswerable question persisted in his mind: + </p> + <p> + “Why, why has he come? What does he want of me?” + </p> + <p> + With an avidly curious glance he looked at the door, and did not take his + eyes away. He heard the measured, unhastening footsteps, nearer and nearer—as + if his fate were approaching. + </p> + <p> + The door opened, admitting the visitor—Prince Immanuel Osipovitch + Davidov, celebrated as author and preacher, a man of a distinguished + family and democratic views, a man beloved of many and possessed of the + mystery of extraordinary fascination, attracting to him many hearts. + </p> + <p> + His face was very smooth, quite un-Russian in type. His lips, slightly + descending at the corners, were marked with sorrow. His beard was reddish, + short, and cut to a point. His red-gold, slightly wavy hair was cut quite + short. This astonished Trirodov, who had always seen the Prince in + portraits wearing his hair rather long, like the poet Nadson. His eyes + were black, flaming and deep. Deeply hidden in his eyes was an expression + of great weariness and suffering, which the inattentive observer might + have interpreted as an expression of fatigued tranquillity and + indifference. Everything about the visitor—his face and his ways—betrayed + his habit of speaking in a large company, even in a crowd. + </p> + <p> + He walked up tranquilly to Trirodov and said, as he stretched out his + hand: + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to see you. I have observed you for some time, and at last have + come to you.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov, making an effort to control his agitation and his deep + irritation, said with an affectedly amiable voice: + </p> + <p> + “I’m very pleased to greet you in my house. I’ve heard much about you from + the Pirozhkovskys. Of course you know that they have a great admiration + and affection for you.” + </p> + <p> + Prince Davidov looked at him piercingly but calmly, perhaps too calmly. It + seemed strange that he answered nothing to the remark about the + Pirozhkovskys—as if Trirodov’s words passed by him like momentary + shadows, without so much as touching anything in his soul. On the other + hand, the Pirozhkovskys have always talked about Prince Davidov as of an + intimate acquaintance. “Yesterday we dined at the Prince’s”; “The Prince + is finishing a new poem”—by simply “the Prince” they gave one to + understand that their remark concerned their friend, Prince Davidov. + Trirodov recalled that the Prince had many acquaintances, and that there + were always large gatherings in his house. + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to offer you some refreshment,” said Trirodov. “Will you have + wine?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d rather have tea, if you don’t mind,” said Prince Davidov. + </p> + <p> + Trirodov pressed the button of the electric bell. Prince Davidov continued + in his tranquil, too tranquil, voice: + </p> + <p> + “My fiancée lives in this town. I’ve come to see her, and have taken + advantage of this opportunity to have a chat with you. There are many + things I should like to discuss with you but I shall not have the time. We + must limit ourselves to the more important matters.” + </p> + <p> + And he began to talk, and did not wait for answers or refutations. His + flaming speech poured itself out—about faith, miracles, about the + likely and inevitable transfiguration of the world by means of a miracle, + about our triumph over the fetters of time and over death itself. + </p> + <p> + The quiet boy Grisha brought tea and cakes, and with measured movements + put them on the table, pausing now and then to look at the visitor with + his blue, quiet eyes. + </p> + <p> + Prince Davidov looked reproachfully at Trirodov. A repressed smile + trembled on Trirodov’s lips and an obstinate challenge gleamed in his + eyes. The visitor affectionately drew Grisha to him and stroked him + gently. The quiet boy stood calmly there—and Trirodov was gloomy. He + said to his visitor: “You love children. I can understand that. They are + angelic beings, though unbearable sometimes. It is only a pity that they + die too often upon this accursed earth. They are born in order to die.” + </p> + <p> + Prince Davidov, with a tranquil movement, pushed Grisha away from him. He + put his hand on the boy’s head as if in blessing, then suddenly became + grave and stern, and asked quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you do this?” + </p> + <p> + He asked the question with a great exertion of the will, like one who + wished to exercise power. Trirodov smiled: + </p> + <p> + “You do not like it?” he asked. “Well, what of it—you with your + extensive connexions could easily hinder me.” + </p> + <p> + The tone in which he uttered his words expressed proud irony. Thus Satan + would have spoken, tempting a famished one in the desert. + </p> + <p> + Prince Davidov frowned. His black eyes flared up. He asked again: + </p> + <p> + “Why have you done all this? The body of the malefactor and the soul of an + innocent—why should you have it all?” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov, looking angrily at his visitor, said resolutely: + </p> + <p> + “My design has been daring and difficult—but have I alone suffered + from despondency, suffered until I perspired with blood? Do I alone bear + within me a dual soul, and unite in me two worlds? Am I alone worn out by + nightmares as heavy as the burdens of the world? Have I alone in a tragic + moment felt myself lonely and forsaken?” + </p> + <p> + The visitor smiled a strange, sad, tranquil smile. Trirodov continued: + </p> + <p> + “You had better know that I will never be with you, that I will not accept + your comforting theories. All your literary and preaching activity is a + complete mistake. I don’t believe anything of what you say so eloquently, + enticing the weak. I simply don’t believe it.” + </p> + <p> + The visitor was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Leave me alone!” said Trirodov decisively. “There is no miracle. There + was no resurrection. No one has conquered death. The establishment of a + single will over the inert, amorphous world is a deed not yet + accomplished.” + </p> + <p> + Prince Davidov rose and said sorrowfully: + </p> + <p> + “I will leave you alone, if you wish it. But you will regret that you have + rejected the path I have shown you—the only path.” + </p> + <p> + Trirodov said proudly: + </p> + <p> + “I know the true path—my path.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” said Prince Davidov simply and calmly. + </p> + <p> + He left—and in a little while it seemed that he had not been there. + Lost in painful reflections, Trirodov did not hear the noise of the + departing carriage; the unexpected call of the dark-faced, fascinating + visitor, with his flaming speech and his fiery eyes, stirred his memory + like a midday dream, like an abrupt hallucination. + </p> + <p> + “Who is his fiancée, and why is she here?” Trirodov asked himself. + </p> + <p> + A strange, impossible idea came into his head. Did not Elisaveta once + speak about him with rapture? Perhaps the unexpected visitor would take + Elisaveta away from him, as he had taken her from Piotr. + </p> + <p> + This misgiving tormented him. But Trirodov looked into the clearness of + her eyes on the portrait taken recently and at the grace and loveliness of + her body and suddenly consoled himself. He thought: + </p> + <p> + “She is mine.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + But Elisaveta, musing and burning, was experiencing passionate dreams; and + she felt the tediousness of the grey monotony of her dull life. The + strange vision suddenly appearing to her in those terrible moments in the + wood repeated itself persistently—and it seemed to her that it was + not another but she herself who was experiencing a parallel life, that she + was passing the exultantly bright, joyous, and sad way of Queen Ortruda. + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_FOOT" id="link2H_FOOT"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FOOTNOTES: + </h2> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 1 (<a href="#linknoteref-1">return</a>)<br /> [ Also the scene of Sologub’s + “Little Demon.”] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-2" id="linknote-2"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 2 (<a href="#linknoteref-2">return</a>)<br /> [ Footpath of the dead.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-3" id="linknote-3"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 3 (<a href="#linknoteref-3">return</a>)<br /> [ This word, which is the + Russian equivalent for <i>Ham</i> of the Bible, describes a man in a state + of serfdom. Since the abolition of serfdom in Russia, it has come to + define the plebeian; and is a sort of personification of the rabble. The + satirist Stchedrin has defined <i>Kham</i> as “one who eats with a knife + and takes milk with his after-dinner coffee.” Merezhkovsky has written a + book on Gorky under the title of “The Future Kham.”—<i>Translator</i>.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-4" id="linknote-4"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 4 (<a href="#linknoteref-4">return</a>)<br /> [ Bossiak literally means “a + barefooted one,” but may be more freely translated a “tramp.” This type + has come very much into vogue since Gorky has put him into his stories.—Translator.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-5" id="linknote-5"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 5 (<a href="#linknoteref-5">return</a>)<br /> [ This phrase signifies + punishment inflicted by the authorities without a trial.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-6" id="linknote-6"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 6 (<a href="#linknoteref-6">return</a>)<br /> [ The name by which the + members of the Constitutional Democratic Party are known. It is a + development of the initials “C. D.”] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-7" id="linknote-7"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 7 (<a href="#linknoteref-7">return</a>)<br /> [Reference to the identity of + the Black Hundred.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-8" id="linknote-8"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 8 (<a href="#linknoteref-8">return</a>)<br /> [ See note on page 44.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-9" id="linknote-9"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 9 (<a href="#linknoteref-9">return</a>)<br /> [ The Black Hundred.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-10" id="linknote-10"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 10 (<a href="#linknoteref-10">return</a>)<br /> [ Betty.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-11" id="linknote-11"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 11 (<a href="#linknoteref-11">return</a>)<br /> [ Nickname for Social + Democrats.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-12" id="linknote-12"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 12 (<a href="#linknoteref-12">return</a>)<br /> [ Nickname for Social + Revolutionaries.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-13" id="linknote-13"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 13 (<a href="#linknoteref-13">return</a>)<br /> [ A political party of + moderate liberals which owes its name to the fact that on October 17, + 1905, the Russian Constitution was established and the Duma organized.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-14" id="linknote-14"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 14 (<a href="#linknoteref-14">return</a>)<br /> [ Member of the Social + Democratic Party.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-15" id="linknote-15"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 15 (<a href="#linknoteref-15">return</a>)<br /> [ See note on page 26.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-16" id="linknote-16"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 16 (<a href="#linknoteref-16">return</a>)<br /> [ See note on page 44.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-17" id="linknote-17"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 17 (<a href="#linknoteref-17">return</a>)<br /> [ Whips.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-18" id="linknote-18"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 18 (<a href="#linknoteref-18">return</a>)<br /> [ Members of the Social + Revolutionary Party are supposed to wear black shirts, those of the Social + Democratic Party red.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-19" id="linknote-19"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 19 (<a href="#linknoteref-19">return</a>)<br /> [ Forest fires are one of + the numerous problems of Russia. They seem to be difficult to put out, and + sometimes go on for weeks. Hence the numerous references in the following + pages to the constant odour of forest flames.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-20" id="linknote-20"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 20 (<a href="#linknoteref-20">return</a>)<br /> [ These two Greek Fates are + important and recurring symbols in Sologub’s philosophy. The world of Aisa + is the world of chaos and chance, in which man is too often lost in trying + to emerge from it. The people who belong to Ananke are those who, acting + of necessity, define their world clearly and conquer chaos. Theirs is the + immutable truth. See also Introduction.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-21" id="linknote-21"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 21 (<a href="#linknoteref-21">return</a>)<br /> [ A line from a poem by + Pushkin.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-22" id="linknote-22"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 22 (<a href="#linknoteref-22">return</a>)<br /> [ Siberian island famous + for its prison.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-23" id="linknote-23"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 23 (<a href="#linknoteref-23">return</a>)<br /> [ Usually brought along as + witnesses.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-24" id="linknote-24"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 24 (<a href="#linknoteref-24">return</a>)<br /> [ I have it on the + authority of one who was of the party that it actually took place at the + house of a celebrated living poet in St. Petersburg. The lost cap belonged + to Dmitry Merezhkovsky, who immediately wrote a much-discussed article in + an important newspaper under the title of “What has become of our Cap?” + The above is an actual quotation from it. The sarcastic remark about + “throwing back the enemy” is aimed at those “patriots” who used to say + that all Russians had to do to repel foreign enemies was to throw their + caps at them.—Translator.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-25" id="linknote-25"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 25 (<a href="#linknoteref-25">return</a>)<br /> [ The second of the novels + under the general head of “The Created Legend” deals with the previous + existence of Elisaveta when she was the Queen Ortruda of the United Isles + in the Mediterranean, and her consort was Prince Tancred, now Trirodov. + She died from suffocation in a volcanic eruption, after a vain effort to + help her people. The author draws a curious parallel, not only with regard + to these two characters, but has also a revolution as the background; it + is a rather veiled effort to describe over again the events which took + place in Russia in 1905.—Translator.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-26" id="linknote-26"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 26 (<a href="#linknoteref-26">return</a>)<br /> [ Unleavened bread of the + Passover.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-27" id="linknote-27"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 27 (<a href="#linknoteref-27">return</a>)<br /> [ In a poem in prose which + serves as an introduction to his Complete Works, Sologub says: “Born not + the first time, and not the first to complete a circle of external + transformations, I simply and calmly reveal my soul. I reveal it in the + hope <i>that the intimate part of me shall become the universal</i>.”—Translator.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-28" id="linknote-28"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 28 (<a href="#linknoteref-28">return</a>)<br /> [ Readers of “The Little + Demon” will have no trouble in recognizing in Ardalyon Borisovitch an old + acquaintance—Peredonov.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-29" id="linknote-29"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 29 (<a href="#linknoteref-29">return</a>)<br /> [ Diminutive for father, + and used in the sense of “my good fellow,” etc.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-30" id="linknote-30"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 30 (<a href="#linknoteref-30">return</a>)<br /> [ “Golubushka” is “little + dove.” English equivalent as used here: “my dear.”] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-31" id="linknote-31"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 31 (<a href="#linknoteref-31">return</a>)<br /> [ Title of standard + didactic work by Karamzin (1766-1826).] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-32" id="linknote-32"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 32 (<a href="#linknoteref-32">return</a>)<br /> [ Mikhail Katkov + (1820-1887), a celebrated reactionary and Slavophil.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-33" id="linknote-33"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 33 (<a href="#linknoteref-33">return</a>)<br /> [ Little Mother.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-34" id="linknote-34"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 34 (<a href="#linknoteref-34">return</a>)<br /> [ The Russo-Japanese War.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-35" id="linknote-35"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 35 (<a href="#linknoteref-35">return</a>)<br /> [ A reference to J. M. + Guyau’s book, “Non-Religion of the Future.”] + </p> + <p> + <br /><a name="linknote-36" id="linknote-36"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 36 (<a href="#linknoteref-36">return</a>)<br /> [ There is an evident + effort here to identify “Immanuel Osipovitch Davidov” as a modern symbol + of Christ, or more properly of Christ’s teachings, “Osipovitch” means the + “son of Joseph”; “Davidov,” “of David,”—Translator.] + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Created Legend, by Feodor Sologub + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREATED LEGEND *** + +***** This file should be named 7480-h.htm or 7480-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/4/8/7480/ + + +Texgt file produced by Eric Eldred, Camilla Venezuela and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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