Orloff and his Wife

it fell upon the name of Konováloff, and as i

he was always a quiet, reticent, thoughtful man. The prison doctor decided that melancholia must be regarded as the cause which incited Konováloff to suicide." I read this brief announcement in brevier type-it is the custom to print notes about the destruction of insignificant people in small type-I read it through, and reflected that

d the[Pg96] dough, and when he was drunk, was fond of playing tunes on his lips, and strumming out various pieces with his fingers on anything that came handy. When the proprietor of the bakery reprimanded him for h

take you, you cock-eyed spectre! Was I born into the world to do this work? Curse you and your work-I'm a musician! Do you understand? If the viola-player got drunk, I used to play the viola: if the hautboy man was under arres

he soldier to an officer's gr

ns-meaning, in general "a soldier";-as the Great Russia

e buried in fat, and a feminine face, stamped about the floor with his short, fat

e with such a man!" Spreading his short fingers wide apart, he raised his hands[

you over to the poli

bbing to the proprietor. The latter beat a retreat, spitting to one side in disgust, snorting wrathfully and cursing. This w

s marches and waltzes or "numbers," as he expressed it; the proprietor gnashed his teeth, and the resul

ell, soldier," said the proprietor, making his appearance in the bakery with a beaming and satisfied countenance, a

oldier, who was lying on the tub with t

orporal!" said the p

lowering his legs off the tub, an

Turkish woman or an Engl

g

and that?" shouted t

p you another hour. Go upstairs, get yo

aster, and the latter's announcement somewhat sobered him: he could not help understanding

g!..." he said with al

ith you,-g

t o

ar o

d sadly.... "You have sucked the blood out of me, sucked me dry, and

am I?" boiled u

s what you are!" said the soldier with conv

with a spiteful laugh, and his

verywhere, my dear little dove, that you may beg as you will-no one will take you! They won't hi

y hired a new ba

g

w he'll come, and set to work, and for three or four months he'll strain every sinew and toil away like a bear! He'll know no sleep, no rest, and won't stick at the wages, no matter what you

and waved his hand wi

nk himself stark naked.... Then he feels ashamed of himself, probably, for he vanishes somewhere,

y dirty and tattered, full trousers of coarse, home-made linen, and on one of his feet were the remains of a rubber boot, while on the other was an old leather boot-leg. His light, reddish-brown hair was tangled all over his head, and small chips, straws and bits of paper stuck in the snarls: all these things also adorne

f fellow I am.... D

e new baker. The latter stepped forward silently, and offered me his long hand, with the powerful wrist of a legendary hero; we exc

ikola Nikítitch, and boot-slippe

de from boots by cutting

; I know you, I know what sort of a fellow you are. I don't mean to insult you-no one can insult Konováloff ... because he never insults anyone. Is

e left

eat deal of dampness, dirt and flour dust. Along the walls stood long bins: one had dough on it, on[Pg 101] another the dough had just been mixed with yeast, the third was empty. Upon each bin fell a dull streak of light from one of the windows. The huge oven took up nearly one third of the bakery; b

n formed a sort of vague illumination which was very trying to the eyes. Through the windows, a dull roar poured in, and dus

een working

again, and inspected each othe

"Shan't we go out into the

e gate, and sat d

t. Judge for yourself-I've just come from the sea.... I've been working at the fishing

noisy, dusty in the street, and the houses cast shadows across the road. Konováloff sat with[Pg 102] his back resting against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, and his fingers straying through the silky strands of his beard. I gaze

ometimes they were smoothed out, and disappeared, and I

dough to rise. You mix the second, and, in the meanti

mixed another, and set the leavened dough for a third-we sat down to drink tea

d this,"-and he thrust into my hand a sm

very much to receive a little note from you. And meanwhile, farewell until we[Pg 103] meet again, but not good-bye, you dear bearded friend of my soul. I will not write you any reproaches, although I'm angry with you, because you are a pig-you went away without taking leave of me. Nevertheless, you have never been anything but good to me: you were the first of that sort, and I shall never forget it. Can't you make an effort, Sásha, to h

s Sásha and Sáshka are diminut

ghtfully to turn it about between the fingers of o

u know how

es

ave yo

es

t you? She must consider me a rascal, she must

ry minute, if you l

am to promise the police that I will marry her, and then they will give her back her passport, and w

a touching epistl

g

see how it has turned out?"

way it had

and have drunk up all my money. Now I have hired out in a place again, and to-morrow I shall get the boss to advance me some money, and I will se

aven't put any compassion into your letter, nor any tears. And then, again-I aske

hy sho

that I am to blame toward her. And what have you done! You've written it j

h I managed to do successfully. Konováloff was satisfie

you're a good lad ... which means, that you

oint, and asked him to t

I came-and saw that she was still a mere child! Good Lord, I said to myself, is it possible? Well, so I made acquaintance with her. She began to cry. Says I: 'Never mind, have patience! I'll get you out of this-only wait!

to do about it,"-I asked him

d I be? No, this is what I mean to do. I'll get her released-and then, she may go whereve

wants to liv

n to make up to me. They had a house, horses, servants-they lived like the nobility. Her husband was a short, fat man, after the style of our boss, but she was as thin and flexible as a cat, and fiery. When she used to embrace me, and kiss me on the lips-hot coals seemed to be sprinkled on my heart. And I'd get all of a tremble, and even feel frightened. She used t

which was not exactly fright, nor yet exactly a query,-something troubled and medit

end matters with the me

had got used to me.... I used to pet her a lot: I used to take her in my arms, and rock her. She would fall asleep, and I would sit and gaze at her. People are very handsome in their sleep, they are so simple; they breathe and smile, and that's all. And then again-when we lived at the villa in the country, she and I used to go driving together-she loved that with all her heart. We would come to some little nook in the forest, tie the horses, and cool ourselves off on the grass. She would order me to lie down, then she would put my head on her knees, and read me some little book or other. I would listen, and listen, until I fell asleep. She read nice stories, very nice stories. One of them I shall never forget-about dumb Gerásim,[5] and his beloved dog. He, that dumb fellow, was a persecuted man, and no one loved him, except his dog. People laughed at him, and all that sort of thing, and he went straight to his dog.... It was a very pitiful story ... yes! But the affair took place in the days of serfdom.... And his lady-mistress says to him: 'Dumb man, go drown your dog, for he howls.'-Well, so the dumb man went.... He took a boat, and put the dog aboard it, and set out.... At this point, I used to feel the cold shivers run over me. Oh Lord! The sole joy on earth of a dumb man was being killed! What sort of behavior is that? Akh-they were wonderful tales! And[Pg 108] really-there was this good thing about it! There are

eff's famous tale:

amiably melancholy smile. On the skin of the arm, near the elbow bend, a scar was plainly visible-two

g

repeated; "she bit me

ss repetitions, almost always combining the most contradictory physical and psychical features. If to-day she is blue-eyed, malicious and merry, you may expect to hear of her a week later as black-eyed, amiable and tearful. And the tramp generally talks about her in a sceptical tone, with a mass of det

er convinced me as to the truth of his story. And, in conclusion, his sad soft tone as he recalled the "merchant's wife"-was a unique tone. The genui

s a fact. He keeps on telling it, and comes to believe it himself, as though it had actually happened-he believes it, and-well, it is agreeable to him. Many folks live by that. You can't prevent it.... But I have told you the truth, as it happened, so I have told it to you.... Is there anything peculiar about that? A woman lives along, and gets bored, and the women are all good-for-nothing creatures.... Supposing I am a coachman, that makes no difference to a woman, because coachmen and gentlemen and officers are all men.... And all are pigs in her sight, all seek one and the same thing, and each one tries to take as much as he can, and to pay as little a

at this man was true to himself in making all the

g

, clear as those of a child, went on talking,

ature of a fog, a warm fog, which cleansed my heart, alrea

he bright pile of coals cast a rosy glow on

h two stars in it. One of them-the large one-gleamed like

also, are a simple lad! That's good!"-he said to me, with a br

wo hundred and fifty pounds, rolling it about in the mould, or how, bent over the bin, he kneaded, h

ny sign of a "crush," I understood that I had to deal with an artist in his own line. He loved to work, became absorbed in his business, grew depressed when the oven baked badly, or when the dough[Pg 112] rose slowly, waxed angry and reviled the proprietor if the latter bought damp flour, and was as merry and content

auty you and I

child, who put his whole soul into his work,

y I as

told that y

and dropp

sing ... I shall begin to grieve. You'd better hold your tongue about that, don't tease me. Don't you sing yourself? Akh, you ... wh

hum beneath my breath, as I kneaded the dough, and rolled out the loaves. Konováloff listened to me,

at! Don'

of my trunk, and, propping mysel

Pg 113] the doughy but the rustle of the leaves, as I

at little

illagers of P

own heart-rending story, by

d, won't you?

d against my knees, he listened.-From time to time I glanced across the book at his face, and

n his lofty forehead, his arms, with which he clasped his knees, his whole motionless, attentive attitude warmed me up,

tired, and c

onováloff asked

than

read it

you

anted to say something, he opened and shut his mouth, sighing like a pair of bellows, and, for some rea

it is! Why, they are just like real people ... the most genuine sort of peasants.... And exactly as though they were alive, and their voices, and their faces.... Listen, Maxím! Let's put the bread in the oven, and then you go on reading!" We put the bread in the oven, prepared another

frown, flung rare and monosyllabic o

d the book, and I felt as thou

d me straight in the face with strange eyes, and ma

good?"

up his eyes, and again-for s

ement not to be expressed in words, and hi

ho had writt

terrible. It grips your heart, that is, it nips your soul-it's so full of l

do you

g

d they give him a rewa

o reward him for?" I inqu

they consider: Pilá, Sysóika ... what sort of folks were they? Everybody feels sorry for

t me in confusion,

about that. Surely, they are human be

cture to him ... But, alas! it did not p

y about, and began to sigh, not interfering with a single word in my at

his head and gazed

not give him anyt

ving entirely forgo

aut

y peculiar audience, which, evidently, did not regard himself as competent to settle world-problem

g

in his hands, carefully turned it over, opened it, shut

.... "A man has written a book?... just paper and a few lit

answere

and still less metaphysics; but Konováloff,

ks, although you never have seen them, and they are nothing whatever to you! There may be thousands of live folks just like them walking along the street, and you see them, but you don't know anything about them ... and you care nothing about

ge. I told him all about

rting from their sockets with amazement

from a full breast, and gnawing his lef

g

f the Russian literary man, about the great and genuine talents which had gon

t of me, together with terror, and pity for these people flashed in his widely-opene

an irrelevant question,

sort. And hearts, also.... They gaze at life, and grow sad.... And they pour out their grief in their books-.... But this does them no good because their hearts are touched

and this seemed t

arth, and to whom on earth is my life of any use, if you stop to consider it? I have no home of my own, no wife, no children-and I don't even feel the want of any. I live[Pg 118] and grieve.... What about? I don't know. It's somewhat as though my mother had brought me into the world without something which all other people possess ... something which is more necessary than anything else

u say this

e, and a powerful effort was written on his face-the

am I living on, we'll say, and there's no place for me to go ...

nquiries as to the connection between him a

k, that if some writer would cast an eye on me, then ... he might be ab

hich, in my opinion, was easy and clear. I began to discourse about conditions and surroundings, abo

g

opened, thoughtful and intelligent, gradually clouded over, as with a thin mist, while the folds lay more sharply acro

was perfectly logical and quite regularly founded on a long series of premises from the distant past. He was the mournful victim of conditions, a being equal in rights with all men, by

ame yourself for.... Yo

eheld a brilliant, kindly smile dawn in them, and waited,

ectionately, and reaching toward me with a soft, f

t lot of them, evidently-of books! Ekh, if I could only read as many! But the chief point is-that you speak very compassionately. This is the first

g

that he is to be a tramp-well, and so he is a tramp, and it's very queer about prisoners, too: they steal because the

"do you agree with me?

an read and write.... It is true, I suppose, i

t th

g wrong about me.... That means, that I was not born as a man should be born. You say yourself, that all men are equals: a man is born, he lives out his appointed time, then he dies! But I'm on a separate path.... And I'm not the only one-there are a lot of us like that. We must be peculiar people, and don't fit into any rule. We need a special account ... and special law

g

verything, and ready to try the force of their exasperated scepticism on everyone.... I had encountered only men who threw the blame on everything and complained of everything, persistently thrusting themselves aside from the series of obvious facts which obstinately confuted their personal infallibility, and who always cast the responsibility of their bad luck on taciturn Fate, on wicked people.... Konováloff did not blame Fate, and uttered not one word about people. He alone was to

himself, and no one is to

nt man." But from the lips of a tramp, although he was an intelligent man, amid the[Pg 122] scorned of fate, the naked, hungry and vicious creatures half men, half beasts, who fill the filth

inspected him, the more convinced did I become that I had to deal with a variety which infringed upon my idea as to people who ought, long ago, to hav

and of high-grade

waxed hotter

n stand steady on his feet if divers obsc

opponent loudly, growing w

t is one to l

upport for yoursel

aven't you

blame for my own life!... I didn't find my point of suppo

nstrate to the other the truth of his views. As a matter of course, neither of us prove

out, in the fashion of an epic hero, on a mat which had been thrown down near the bin. There was an odor of hot bread, of fermented dough, of carbonic acid gas.... The day dawned, an

ught over various methods of converting him, as speedily as possible

he dough to rise, washed ourselves a

a little book?" i

es

u read i

rig

e here a month, I'll get some money from

at

lá and Sysóika.... And let them be written pathetically, you know, not to make fun of folks.... There are some which are downright trash! Panfilka and Filátka-even

one about S

nka?... Is

y go

h it

volt of Sténka Rázin" At first, this talented monograph, whi

nd when I explained the reason, he went so far as to yawn, and tried to hide t

ever mind. I did

not to have observed anything, and that I did not,

to me, presented himself to me in an astonishing, new form. As he sat on the bin opposite me, clasping his knees in his arms, and with his head laid upon them in such a way that his beard hid his legs, he stared at me with greedy, strangely burning eyes from beneath his sternly knit brows. There was not left in him a single trace of[Pg 125] that

said softly bu

ails

was an accent of irritation as

d from him which excited and intoxicated me-a sort of glowing mist. The book, also, exerted its influence.... And thus it w

d him!" roare

ess to rescue Sténka resound

ely. He sprang from the bin, tall, excited, halted in front of

oming next? No, stop, don't speak! Do t

space of three centuries, united this tramp with Sténka, and the tramp, with the full strength of his lively, mighty[Pg 126] body, with all the passion of hi

ading, for C

was beating hard, and in company with Konováloff, living ov

not take his eyes from the book, any more than I did. His breath buzzed above my ears, and blew my hair into

hard, that he spat them out on the

snatching the book from my hand, he flung it on the

ueer way, in order to keep from sobbing. He hid his head on his

the bin, and did not know

wful! Pilá ... Sysóika. And now Sténka ... isn't it? What

led all over

ch Sténka spit out, and he kept referring to the

g

e influence of the harsh and poignant pic

ing up the book from the floor, and handing it to me.-"And, se

he riveted his e

l the other letters.... O Lord! How it hurt him, didn't it? Even his teeth.... And what wil

th so much satisfaction in his eyes, that I shuddered at that co

énka, recalled his life, the songs which had been composed about him, his torments. A couple

oser friends fro

y delighted with "Tarás," but it could not obscure the vivid impression made on him by Kostomároff's book. Konováloff did not understan

is an imaginary character. The book has been tran

n several translations. Makár Dyévushkin and Várya are t

ere, Maxím, drop that long-drawn-out thing. What is there to it? He's after her, and she's after him.... They ruined a

out the Peasants of Podlípovo,

ers-they're tiresome! They're not even human beings, but just so-so-a mere invention. Now if you were to put Tarás and Sténka alongside

he "top-knots,"[9] on the Vólga.... I had great difficulty in[Pg 129] convincing him, that, had Pilá and Sysóika "gone down," following the Káma down-strea

from the fact that the famous kazáks of the Ukráina (Little Russia), known to history as the Zaporózhian kazáks-

and the Vólga, capturing towns and stirring up a revolt against the government He was executed in M

eat him to the history of Pugatchóff's revolt,[11] as I was desirous of obser

ing to St. Petersburg, deposing "his wife" (the Empress Katherine II.), and placing "his son" (afterwards the Emperor Paul I.) on the throne, he

?-that's quite another matter, brother. But Pugatchóff, was just a nit, and nothing more. A mighty important mess of victuals, truly! Aren't there any little b

took with us a little vódka, some bread, a book, and set off early in

g

ng mud. Greenish-gray in hue, half-ruined, as though it were sinking into the earth, it gazed from the fields at the town with the dark eye-sockets of its distorted windows, and seemed a blind singer of religious ballads, hardly treated by Fate, who had been ejected from the city limits, and was in a very pitiful and dying condition.

s welcome guests among them, because both he and I, when we left the bakery, each took with us a loaf of bread, and on our way, purchased a measure of vódka, and a whol

esented the truth;-and in which threads of brilliant hues were to be met with-representing[Pg 131] the falsehood. This lace fell over brain and heart, and oppressed them both painfully, compressing them with its cruel, torturing varied pattern. "The

krasoff.-T

moulds itself in such an accurate and picturesque form, as does the thought which is directly squeezed out of a man by suffering. The knowledge of life possessed by these people whom life had flung overboard, astonish

h whom one must be strictly on his guard,-after listening to such a story, which always bore the character of a justificatory an

Lesá?" exclaimed the

is to say, listen, and try to understand[Pg 132] why he lies? Sometimes a lie shows up a man better than the truth does.... An

y-teller.... "But what were

sers-by made it. But where were you all that time? And why didn't you offer any resistance to your fate? And the way it turns out is, that we all of us complain about people, yet we are people ourselves, and, o

plenty of room in it, and no one will interfere with the res

uestion, he immediately answered it himself:-"We! We ourselves! And how shall we construct life, if we don't understand it, and our

epeated his opinion: "no one was in anywise to blame concerning

g

o master his point of view. On the one hand, in his presentation of the matter, they appeared fully competent to construct a

-day, ended about midnight, and Konováloff and I returned from "

us characters, from the point of view of the police. Sometimes we did not care to philosophize, and then we went far a-field, in the meadows beyond the river, where there were tiny lakes, abounding in small fish, which entered them at the season of flood-wat

t's stare

thing that was there at the moment.... Later on, the blue sky seemed to be gradually drawing us toward it, enfolded our consciousness in mist, we lost the sensation of existence,[Pg 134] and, as though tearing ourse

, and return home to our work, renewed in body a

ways, when he was in the fields or on the river, he was completely permeated by a certain pacifically-affectionate mood, wh

How goo

oets, who go into raptures more for the sake of maintaining their reputations as persons with an exquisite

its holy beauty and directness, w

things and read a great deal. I read the "Revolt of Sténka" so often to him, that he

e called the objects with which he had to deal by the names of its heroes,[Pg 135] and when, o

u, voev

nor of a province or town"; sometimes,

istened "Sténka's thoughts"; Sténka himself was the synony

na, whose letter I had read, and to whom I had com

hilip, with a request that the latter would act as surety for her to

d in the oven, the door of the bakery opened, and from out of the darkness of the damp

se me

onováloff, dropping the shovel at his f

Konováloff

ad-on her white woollen kerchief. From beneath the kerchief gazed around, pretty, snub-nose

I answe

] noisily, it seemed, throwing aside his shovel, and ha

hed deeply, as she

nováloff bending

do you see? I told you ... your way is open before you again! Go ahead boldly!"-Konováloff hastily explained hi

my boy, while I attend to the ladies' de

aight here

t's utterly impossible! Our boss is the strictest sort of a man. I mu

to my no small surprise, he made his appearance three hours later. My astonishment was still further increased, when, on glancing

ntensely interested in this mood of my f

dly, and, after a pause, he s

g

the same?..."

ing himself at full length on the bin.-"All the same ... all the s

ation out of him, and, at last, he gave it

ou're a fool; just consider, what will it be like to live with me? In the first place, there's my tippling; in the second place, I have no home; in the third, I am a vagabond, and I can't live in one place....' and so forth and so on, with a lot more, says I to her. But she-doesn't care a fig about my tippling. 'All men who work at trades are bitter drunkards,' says she, 'yet they have wives; you'll get a house,' says she, 'when you have a wife, and then you won't run off anywhere....' Says I: 'Kápa, I can't possibly bring myself to do it, because I know that I don't understand how to lead such a life, and I can't learn how.' And says she, 'Then I'll jump

er away from that place, as

... not much! I won't consent to that. What sort of a family man would I make? And if I could stick to that, I would have married long ago. What good chances I have had! I might have married money..

" He rose from the bin, and ruffling his beard and his hair with both hands, h

y, "couldn't you go to her, sort of tell her the why

g

I to sa

ght thing for him to do ...' And see here, this is what you can say

he truth?"

evil take you! What a mess a wife is! Isn't that so? And I never thought of suc

with a wife! And, despite the comicality of his statement of this whole affair, its dramatic side made me do some hard thinking ov

king me in, and dragging me down somewhere, exactly like a bottomless bog. A nice hus

speak in him, aroused by the feeling of eternal s

l take it, yes ... and, after all, what of it?"-And, coming to a halt in the middle of the bakery, he sighed, and fell into

g

re, let's be off

nd of imparting to him all that I knew myself at that time. It would have been curious to observe how this experiment would turn out.

nsense!" I said to him,

is there for me

tólina's designs on him were not so decidedly seri

out, he had not so

two hours had elapsed since Konováloff's return. All at once, the crash of breaking glass rang out behind us, and a pretty

oice through the opening.-"My aim wa

ce bass voice.-"C-cco-ome'l-llong,

, shrill and nerve-splitting, floated in fr

aid Konoválof

g

into the opening before the window. There they dangled and bobbed about in a queer f

ow!" jabbered the

o ease my heart. Good-bye, Sáshka! Good-bye..

er dishevelled hair lay in disorder over her shoulders and bosom. The white kerchief was pushed on one side, the bodice of her gown was tom. Kapitólina was horribly drunk, and

, resting one hand on her shoulder, and the othe

ome'lon

our of God's sunshine! I did hope ... I should reform ... you jeered at me, you gallow's-bird ... all rig

bin.-"I'm not hiding ... but there's no use in[Pg 142] your going on like this ... I certainly meant kindly b

Can you

't you know what would have

Sáshka! D

that! C-co

Why did you pretend

is noise, hey?

hman interposed in this dialo

ou devil!..." sobbed th

pward in haste, and vanished in the gloom.

on-house! Sá-ásha!" shri

noisily alon

a dull roa

ha! De

had been enacted with astonishing swiftness, Konováloff and I stared into the street through the darkness, and could not recover ourselves from the weeping, roaring, curses, shouts of the polic

g

icity, after listening a while longer in silence in the dark nigh

s on the slope of the window-sill.-"She has got into the hands of the police ... drunk ... in company with some devil or other. She made up her mind quick!" He heaved

k place there just now?... That is to

before himself its probable termination. He had not understood this in the least, did not know it, and was thoroughly to blame in every point. I was

en I had finished, he raised it, and on h

hat's clever! Well, and ... what now? He

ion of his fault toward the girl, and so much helpless astonishment, that I immediately felt sorry

ngry with me now ... for now I have.... I'll go there, to the police-station, and I'll try ..

her again. What could he say to her? Moreover, intoxicat

fied himself

ndeed I do. And what sort of people are they for her? I'

the bakery, without even donning the boot-s

in the morning, and, according to my wont, cast a glance

, with harsh lines on his brow, and a sort of mist over his blue eyes. Without looking at me, he s

g

you see her

what I w

what ha

thi

he work, when it was absolutely necessary, striding about the bakery with drooping head, and still with the same beclouded eyes with which he had arrived. Something seemed to have been extinguished within him; he work

ad me somethin

to read that passage to him. He listened, stretched out motionless upon the floor

peaceableness ... order ... if you look at it so, from one side, life has now even become perfectly peaceful. Books, reading and writing.... And, nevertheless, a man lives without protection, and there is

g

rms are you with K

th Kápa? Enough!" ... He w

ou have made

self has made

ow

rs whatever.... Just as before. Only, formerly, she did not drink, and now

shelves cracked also, in drying. In the street, opposite our windows, the night-watchmen were chatting. And still another soun

o to the shelf, take from it Kostomároff's book, open it, and hold it up to his eyes. His thoughtful face was clearly visible to me, and I watched him draw his fingers along the lines, shake his head, turn over a leaf, and aga

y curiosity, and asked

g

out the rules of life? That is to say, instruction as to how a man ought to live? I want to have my deeds explained to me-which are injurious, and which are of no consequence ... You see, I am troubled about my deeds.... A deed which seems

inutes of

ím!"

ha

apitólina di

, now.... Say no

tter now.... But, tell

, but, on reflection, I repl

f.... She was right ... yes...." drawl

s laid flat on the floor, rose to his feet several tim

ightfall. He turned out to be covered all over with some sort[Pg 148] of dust, and in his clouded eyes a f

have yo

take a look

and wha

other! Didn't

ood, and began to talk about the mighty power of habit, and about everything else which seeme

anates from me. And just as soon as I go near a man, he immediately catches the infection from me. And woe is all that I can bring to anyone ...? For, when you come

nonsen

and he nodded his

but from my remarks he drew still great

t of the affair with Kápka. He became meditative, lost his interest in b

n the floor, and stared fixedly at the vault of the ceiling. His

he matter with y

e to hold out a little longer. But that affair is eating me up.... How so? I wanted to do good to a person, and-all of a sudden-it turns out entirely wrong! Yes, brother, a rule for one's deeds is very necessary in life.... And couldn't such a set of rules be invented, so that a

remarks. I even noticed that he seemed to hold somewhat aloof from me. One day, after listening f

it.... So, according to you, it appears, that until all this has been made over, man, all the same, must remain just as he is now. Also.... No, you make him over first, show[Pg 150] him

hot or grew surly, an

do

eturn at night to work, nor the following day. In his place, the p

use. He's sitting in 'The Little Wal

he will recov

e, just wait ..

d overhead with boards. An earthy odor forever reigned within it, along with cheap, domestic tobacco, and wódka grown bitter with age-a symphony of odors which made one's head ache horribly after half an hour's sojourn among them. But the steady patrons of this den were accustomed

of six gentlemen, in[Pg 151] fantastically-tattered costumes, with faces like those of the he

together, and eating something w

thing.... They'll last three days in all. I'll drink up everything and .

town," remarked someone, who

and interrogative stare at the ceiling.-"

s right to drink up everything, and even elevating that right to the r

ur whack! I've jumped the track for good, my lad. Don't say a word! I mean to drink until I haven't a stitch

is chest in a silky fan, kept moving to and fro, because his lower lip was twitching with a nervous quiver. His shirt-collar was unb

g

his place together," I said, l

it's better for me not to drop it.... What else is there for me to do? What? You see, I feel, I feel every movement of life ... but I

oval, and all twelve of their eyes surveyed m

ry off Konováloff,-and the treat, which they

Akh, comrades, what books there are in the world! About Pilá?... Hey, Maxím!... Comrades, it isn't a book, but bl

strangely. The company, not very willingly, made room for me at the table. I sat down bes

drink, he picked up from his plate a piece of the stuff which looked like clay, but was reall

g

n undertone, like a pack

u won't drink with me. I won't go to the bakery. I have some money owing me from the boss-get it, and give it to me, I'll spend it for liquor.... No! Take it you

pany was quite ready to fling me out from among them by the scruff

unk, he-the least of all. He was drinking with his elbows resting on the table, and staring at the sky through the ope

lades, and his face was pale with emotion, his eyes were half closed, his throat was curved forward. Eight drunken, senseless, crimson faces were gazing at him, and only from time to time did the muttering

nd the twilight which filled that pit-all these things were gloomy and painfully fantastic. It seemed as though men who had been buried alive were banqueting in a sepulchre, and

cted a gang for myself ... here it is ... there'll be more men later on.... We'll find them! This is n-nothing! We'll call ourselves Pilá and Sysóika.... And we'll feed them every day on buckwheat gr

nd bottle rattled, and the company, recovering its senses, immediately

nováloff. "Drink! Ease your

ing with a twisting tongue, and when he began to sing again, I went off[Pg 155] to the bakery, a

Konováloff vanis

to encounte

of petty, malicious lies, from the sphere of sickly self-conceit, of sectarianism of ideas, of all sorts of insincerity,-in a word, from all that vanity of vanities which chills the emotions, and perverts the mind. I was born and reared outside that circle of society, and for t

the dives of the towns, where, although everything is filthy, it is still simple and sincere, or to set out for a walk over the fields and roa

an of march, I chanced to reach Feodósia. At that time they were beginning to build the jetty there, and, in the expec

climbed a hill and seated myself there, gazing down upon the boun

ieces with pickaxes, clearing a space for a line of railway, they were mixing cement in vast mortar-pits, and making out of it stones almost a fathom in cubic measurement, lowering them into the sea, erecting upon them a rampart against the titanic strength of its turbulent waves. They seemed as tiny as worms against the background of the dark-brown hill, disfigured by their hands, and like worms they swarmed b

reeched dolefully, iron pile-drivers[Pg 157] descended upon the wood of the piles, the ballad of "The Little Oaken Cudgel" wailed o

ge fragment of rock, endeavoring to move it from its resting-place; in another

untain, furrowed with cracks,

e of the Black Sea, in the Crimea. 30

one, and coming slowly to meet them, with empty barrows, was another file, who were dragging out one minute of rest into two....

omrades,'tis

us no one

little oaken

ave-

ece of cast-iron, flying up through the pipe of the pile-driver, fell the

ur odor of man. Among them overseers were walking about, clad in white duck coats with metal buttons, which shone in the sun like someone's cold eyes. Over th

f sound and movement. All gleaming in the sunlight, it seemed to be smiling, with the good-natured smile of a Gulliv

ns on the earth; but they receive nothing for this, though they yield up all their forces to the eternal propensity to construct-a propensity which creates marvels on the earth, but, nevertheless, gives men no blood, and too little bread. They also are elementary forces, and that is why the sea gazes, not angrily but graciously, upon their labors from which they derive no profit. These gray little worms, who have thus excavated the mountain, are just the same thing as its drops, which are the first to fall upon the cold and inaccessible cliffs of the shore, in the eternal effort of the sea to extend its boundaries, and the first to perish as they are dashed in fragments against these crags. In the mass, too, these dr

aved and wofully riddled, instead of aspiring to affinity with heaven. The waves ran softly up the beach, sprinkled with a throng of men, engaged in constructing a stone barrier to th

were tight about the lower leg, but with full seats. These, as I afterward learned, were Turks from Anatolia. Their guttural speech mingled with t

itan tramps were immediately discernible by their independent aspect, and costumes, and their peculiar turn of speech, which was that of men who still remained under the dominion of the soil, having only temporarily severed their connection with it, who had been torn from it by hunger, and had

actor to repair something connected with the pulley of the pile-driver, which, probably, was "eating into

ve

ld tug lazily

way once more!

pock-marked face and a soldierly air,-shrugged his shoulders, s

he pile-driver ra

hter, which, evidently, proved that it was an[Pg 161] impromptu, composed on the spot by the singer, who, as his comrad

r fiercely from the summit of the p

-you'll burst!"-one of

row of this young fellow; Konováloff's hair was of a lighter hue, and did not crisp in such small curls as this fellow's; Konováloff had a handsome, broad beard, but this man was clean-shaven as to his chin, and wore a thick mustache, whose ends drooped downward, in Little Russian fash

of cast-iron, twenty puds in weight,[15] flew upwards to a constantly[Pg 162] lessening height, and its blow upon the wood sounded more and more faintly. Anyone watching this work might have thought that this was a throng of idolaters, engaged in prayer, uplifting their arms, in despair and ecstasy, to their silent God, and bowing down before him. Their faces, bathed in sweat, dirty, strained in expression, with dishevelled hai

ed and twenty po

someone, in an ang

orers sank down heavily, where they stood, upon the ground, wiping away the sweat, breathing hard, feeling of the

essed myself to the young f

n his eyes over my face, and pucke

ovál

actly as though he were about to seize me by the throat, a

nd I will tramp all over the earth! What a life ... that there behind us, isn't it? Downright misery, long drawn out; you don't live, you rot! But I've been roaming the fair world ever since then, my boy. What places I've been in! What air I have breathed.... No, you've improved

e a single word into the volley of his questions, and only smiled,-very foolishly, in all probability,-as I gazed at his kind face, which was radiant with satisfaction

y old friend, whence came that scar o

ldier asks me: 'Did I slash you?'-'It must have been you, since you confess it.'-'I had to,' says he; 'don't you cherish a grudge,' says he, 'that's part of our service. We thought you were travelling with smuggled goods. Here,' says he, 'this is the way they treated me-they ripped my belly open. It can't be helped; life is a serious game.'-Well, and so he and I struck up a friendship. He was a good little soldier-was Yáshka Mázin.... And my curls? Curls? The curls, my boy, came after the typhoid fever. I've had the typhoid fever. They put me in jail in Kishinéff, with the intention of trying me for crossing the frontier illegally, and there I developed typhoid fever.... I lay there and lay there with it, and came near never getting up from it. And, in all probability, I shouldn't have recovered, only the nurse took a great deal of pains with me. I was simply astonished, my boy-she fussed ov

how did you get

ree rubles on hand, and for this half day's work I shall get forty kopéks.[16] See what a big capital! That means that you're to come home to where we live. We're not in the barracks, but yonder, in the vicinity of the town ... th

amounts in dollars a

reton blouse, which was too short and too tight for him, crash drawers, and heavy boot-slippers.[Pg 166] His cap of chestnut curls waved over his huge head. From time to time he turned round, and made some sort of signals to me with his hands. He was so entirely new, somehow, so animated, calmly confident, amiable, and powerful. Everywhere around him men were at work, wood was cracking, stone was being laid, barrows we

studded, and over its entrance hung a block of stone, which formed a sort of pent-house, so that, in order to get into the hole, one was forced to lie flat on the ground in front of it, and then shove himself in. It was seven feet in depth, but it was not necessary to crawl into it head foremost, and, indeed, this was risky, for the block of ston

es from us, so that we could hear his teeth chattering in a paroxysm of fever. He was a long,

d approximated specimens of the Little Russian pronunciation; though t

orget where he was born ... and what difference does it make, anyway? It's

nothing but holes, and swore very picturesquely, when he perceived that all his efforts were futile-he swore, but continued to wr

m afar there was wafted to us the dull roar of toil on the bay, but we did not see it; to the right of us, on the shore, lay the town in heavy masses of white houses, to our left-was the sea,-in front of us, the sea again, extending

g

t direction, smiled bli

il some water for tea: we have bread, and meat. But, in t

it, he remarked: "Every time that I am by the sea, I keep wondering why so few people settle down near it. They would be the better for it, beca

to meet the sun, rose clouds of a pinkish-smoke color, with soft outlines. It seemed as though mountains with white peaks, sumptuously adorned with snow and rosy in the rays of the sunset, were rising from the depths of the sea. From the bay floated the mou

s you to them? The life there is tainted and close. There's neither air, nor space, nor anything else that a man needs.[Pg 169] People? What the devil do you w

hem; a man can't pass to his own place without treading on their feet. Why, they are born in countless numbers! They're lik

want to go to Tashként with me? Or to Samarkánd, or where? And then we'll have a try at the Amúr-is it a bargain? I, my boy, have made up my mind to walk over the earth in various directions-that's the very best thing to do.... You walk along, and you're always seeing something new.... And you don't think of anything.... The breeze blows in your face, and it

tars shone out, the hum of toil on the bay ceased, and only now and then were exclamations of the men, soft as sighs, borne thence to

the Little Russian, which five minutes previously had perfectly

e a fire...." he

will

ew quieter round about: ... life seemed to have withdrawn from us somewhither, and its sounds melted and were extinguished in mist. The clouds dispersed, stars began to glitter in the dark-blue sky, and upon the velvety surface of the sea, also, faintly flickered the tiny lights of fishing-boats

ere in heaps, and defile the earth, sigh, crowd one another.

g

get a fur coat, or a warm hut in it for the winter, we'd live like lor

d, all the same.... Why cram people into such heaps, when two or three can't get along together?-That's what I was talking about. Of course, when you come to think of it, there's no

ne of his last phrase rehabilitated before me my friend as still the same man, seeking a point of support for himself, whom I had known before. The same rust of ignorance in the face of life, and venom of thoughts about it, were still corroding that powerful form, which had been born, to its misfortune, with

w much ground I have covered since then in my roamings, how much, of all sorts, I ha

will fit?" inquired the Little Russian indiffer

ght, busy themselves with their affairs, have wives, children, and all the rest of it ... they complain of life

Little Russian in surprise.-"Well, will

" assented Kon

t," uttered the stoic, with a consciousness of his own

ell, that means, live on, and don't argue.

an considered it

will, you must be dragged in and ground to dust ... Lie still, and hold yo

scure, curtained with a thick veil of[Pg 173] gloom. The sky above us was dark, also, the moon had not yet risen. We felt rather than

sleep?" suggested

in which he lay down. The Little Russian thrashed about incessantly, and his teeth kept chattering. I stared, for a long while, at the smouldering coals of the fire: at first brillian

.... The point is, to blaze

to the Kubán, he did not wish to go. But we both parted

e to pass....<