THE LITTLE DEMON

BY

FEODOR SOLOGUB

AUTHORISED TRANSLATION

BY JOHN COURNOS AND

RICHARD ALDINGTON

ALFRED A. KNOPF

NEW YORK

MCMXVI

[TRANSLATORS' PREFACE]

"The Little Demon" is a successful and almost imperceptible merging of comedy with tragedy. It is in fact a tragedy in which the comic forms an integral part and is not sandwiched in superficially merely to please the reader. The method resembles in a measure that of Gogol's "Dead Souls," with which "The Little Demon" was compared upon its first appearance in 1907.

It is a work of art—and it is a challenge; and this challenge is addressed not to Russia alone, but to the whole world.

"What a sad place Russia is!" exclaimed Pushkin when Gogol read his story to him. But what the world knows to-day is that Gogol gave us a portrait of the human soul, and that only the frame was Russian. Prince Kropotkin assures us that there are Chichikovs in England, and Professor Phelps of Yale is equally emphatic about their presence in America.

And this is also true of Peredonov, of "The Little Demon."

In spite of its "local colour" and its portrayal of small town life in Russia, this novel has the world for its stage, and its chief actor, Peredonov, is a universal character. He is a Russian—an American—an Englishman. He is to be found everywhere, and in every station of life. Both translators agree that they have even met one or two Peredonovs at London literary teas—and not a few Volodins, for that matter.

Certainly there is a touch of Peredonov in many men. It is a matter of degree. For the extraordinary thing about this book is that nearly all the characters are Peredonovs of a lesser calibre. Their Peredonovism lacks that concentrated intensity which lifts the unfortunate Peredonov to tragic—and to comic—heights in spite of his pettiness; or perhaps because his pettiness is so gigantic.

"The Little Demon" is a penetration into human conscience, and a criticism of the state of petty "provinciality" into which it has fallen.

"The Kingdom of God is within you." So is the kingdom of evil. That is the great truth of "The Little Demon." And in Peredonov's case, the inner spirit takes possession of external objects, and all the concrete things that his eyes see become symbols of the evil that is within himself. More than that: this spirit even creates for him a "little grey, nimble beast"—the Nedotikomka—which is the sum of the evil forces of the world, and against which he has to contend.

The author enters his "hero's" condition so deeply that even people and objects and scenery are rendered, as it were, through Peredonov's eyes—and the mood created by this subjective treatment helps to inveigle the reader into comprehending the chief character.

The beautiful Sasha-Liudmilla episode relieves the Peredonovian atmosphere as a dab of vermilion relieves grey. But what the author shows us is that even such an idyllic love episode is affected by contact with this atmosphere, and that its beauty and innocence become obscured under the tissue of lies as under a coat of grey dust. This, as well as other aspects of "The Little Demon," are dealt with at length in my article on Feodor Sologub in "The Fortnightly Review" (September, 1915), and if I refrain from going over the ground again, it is because I hope that the tale is simple and clear enough to provide its own comment.

Finally, I may be pardoned for speaking of the difficulties of translating "The Little Demon." Not only is the original extraordinarily racy in parts and rich in current Russian slang—at times almost obscure in meaning, but the characters occasionally indulge in puns or speak in rhymes—rhyme-speaking is not uncommon among the peasant classes in Russia. In every case the translators have striven to give the English equivalent; where the difficulty was of a nature rendering this impossible, the translators have had to make use of absolutely unavoidable footnotes. The translators have also made every effort to preserve the mood of Sologubian descriptive prose, which is not always an easy matter, when you consider the natural pliancy of Russian and the comparatively rigid nature of English.

JOHN COURNOS

December 1915

[AUTHOR'S PREFACE]
TO THE SECOND RUSSIAN EDITION, 1908

This novel, "The Little Demon," was begun in 1892 and finished in 1902. It originally appeared in 1905 in the periodical "Voprosi Zhizni," but without its final chapters. It was first published in its complete form in March, 1907, in the "Shipovnik" edition.

There are two dissenting opinions among those I have seen expressed in print as well as among those I have chanced to hear personally:

There are some who think that the author, being a very wicked man, wished to draw his own portrait, and has represented himself in the person of the instructor Peredonov. To judge from his frankness it would appear that the author did not have the slightest wish to justify or to idealise himself, and has painted his face in the blackest colours. He has accomplished this rather astonishing undertaking in order to ascend a kind of Golgotha, and to expiate his sins for some reason or other. The result is an interesting and harmless novel.

Interesting, because it shows what wicked people there are in this world. Harmless, because the reader can say: "This was not written about me."

Others, more considerate toward the author, are of the opinion that the Peredonovstchina portrayed in this novel is a sufficiently widespread phenomenon.

Others go even further and say that if every one of us should examine himself intently he would discover unmistakable traits of Peredonov.

Of these two opinions I give preference to the one most agreeable to me, namely, the second. I did not find it indispensable to create and invent out of myself; all that is episodic, realistic, and psychologic in any novel is based on very precise observation, and I found sufficient "material" for my novel around me. And if my labours on this novel have been rather prolonged, it has been in order to elevate to necessity whatever is here by chance; so that the austere Ananke should reign on the throne of Aisa, the prodigal scatterer of episodes.

It is true that people love to be loved. They are pleased with the portrayal of the nobler, loftier aspects of the soul. Even in villains they want to see a spark of nobility, "the divine spark," as people used to say in the old days. That is why they do not want to believe the picture that confronts them when it is true, exact, gloomy, and evil. They say: "It is not about me."

No, my dear contemporaries, it is of you that I have written my novel, about the Little Demon and his dreadful Nedotikomka, about Ardalyon and Varvara Peredonov, Pavel Volodin, Darya, Liudmilla, and Valeria Routilov, Aleksandr Pilnikov and the others. About you.

This novel is a mirror—very skilfully made. I have spent a long time in polishing it, I have laboured over it zealously.

The surface of my mirror is pure. It has been remeasured again and again, and most carefully verified; it has not a single blemish.

The monstrous and the beautiful are reflected in it with equal precision.

[AUTHOR'S PREFACE]
TO THE FIFTH RUSSIAN EDITION, 1909

Rather acute "spoiler alert" in this particular author's note we were signalled — (transcribers' note).

I once thought that Peredonov's career was finished, and that he was not to leave the psychiatric hospital where he was placed after cutting Volodin's throat. But latterly rumours have begun to reach me to the effect that Peredonov's mental derangement has proved to be only temporary, and that after a brief confinement he was restored to freedom. These rumours sound hardly plausible. I only mention them because even in our days the unplausible happens. Indeed, I have read in a newspaper that I am preparing to write a sequel to "The Little Demon."

I have heard that Varvara has apparently succeeded in convincing someone that Peredonov had cause for behaving as he did—that Volodin uttered more than once objectionable words, and had betrayed objectionable intentions—and that before his death he said something amazingly insolent which led to the fatal catastrophe. I am told that Varvara has interested the Princess Volchanskaya in this story, and the Princess, who earlier had neglected to put in a word for Peredonov, is now taking a keen interest in his fate.

As to what happened to Peredonov after he had left the hospital, my information is rather vague and contradictory. Some people have told me that Peredonov has entered the police department, as he had been advised to do by Skouchayev, and has served as a councillor in the District Government. He has distinguished himself in some way or other, and is making a fine career.

I have heard from others, however, that it was not Ardalyon Borisitch who served in the police, but another Peredonov, a relative of our Peredonov. Ardalyon Borisitch himself did not succeed in entering the service, or else he did not wish to; instead, he has taken up with literary criticism. His articles reveal those qualities which distinguished him before.

This rumour strikes me as being even more unlikely than the first.

In any case, if I should succeed in receiving precise information about the latest doings of Peredonov, I will try to relate it in all its adequate detail.

[DIALOGUE]
TO THE SEVENTH RUSSIAN EDITION, MAY 1913

"My soul, why are you thus dismayed?"

"Because of the hate that surrounds the name of the author of 'The Little Demon.' Many people who disagree upon other things are agreed on this."

"Accept the malice and the abuse submissively."

"But is not our labour worthy of gratitude? Why then this hate?"

"This hate is rather like fear. You waken the conscience too loudly, you are too frank."

"But isn't there some use in my truth?"

"You want compliments! But this is not Paris."

"Oh, no, it is not Paris!"

"My soul, you are a true Parisienne, a child of European civilisation. You have come in a charming dress and in light sandals to a place where they wear smocks and greased boots. Do not be astonished if the greased boot sometimes steps rudely on your tender foot. Its possessor is an honest fellow."

"But what a morose, what an awkward fellow!"

[AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION]
TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

It is quite natural for the author of a novel to experience pleasure and pride upon learning that his work is about to become accessible to a new circle of readers. Upon learning, however, that Mr. John Cournos was translating my novel, "The Little Demon," into English I experienced not a little apprehension. In days of Anglo-Russian rapprochement, in days of great stress, when a common danger unites the two great nations, it seemed to me perhaps unseasonable to acquaint England with this sombre picture. It occurred to me that there was a danger of my new readers accepting this novel as a precise and characteristic portrayal of Russian life. But my friends told me that Mr. John Cournos was fulfilling his task with great love and care, and this gives me the hope that the true meaning of my work will be also understood in the translation, reproducing so accurately the original.

In any case, I should like to warn my readers against the temptation of seeing only Russian traits in this novel. The portrait of Peredonov is an expression of the all-human inclination towards evil, of the almost disinterested tendency of a perverse human soul to depart from the common course of universal life directed by one omnipotent Will; and, taking vengeance upon the world for its own grievous loneliness, to bring into the world evil and abomination, to mutilate the given reality and to defile the beautiful dreams of humanity.

This inclination towards evil, raging in the hearts of mankind in all latitudes and longitudes, invests itself only outwardly with an appearance of selfish expedience. A soul marred by this tragic affliction, that of a morose separation from the world, is borne along by a sovereign justice, which rules worlds and hearts, upon disastrous paths, towards madness and towards death.

The afflicted soul does not rejoice at its gains, to such a degree visionary, to such a degree worthless. A foreboding of ultimate destruction torments it with a gnawing sadness.

Where then, in what blessed land, is not man tormented with this agonising sadness, these true tokens of the same morose and sombre affliction? The Russian "khandra" and the English spleen are the expression of one and the same malady of the spirit. Even in more noble souls, these harsh visitors, so familiar to both Englishmen and Russians, have been created by the omnipotent Will not without a beneficent design. They incessantly remind the soul, succumbing in the life struggle, that the enemy is near, cunning and strong.

I would be glad if my new readers should appraise not only the detestable sinfulness and perversity of a soul warped by the force of evil, but also the great yearning of this soul—the evil evil atones to a certain degree in this truly human feeling; and in this feeling the afflicted man also communes with each one of us.

This novel will not be accepted by you in condemnation of my country—my country has not a few enchantments, which make her beloved not only by her own, but also by the observant stranger. Perhaps the attentive reader will find even in this sombre novel certain reflections of enchanting Russian nature, and of the live Russian soul.

FEODOR SOLOGUB

January 1916

[CHAPTER I]

After Mass the members of the congregation scattered to their homes. A few stopped to talk under the old maples and lindens near the white stone walls, within the enclosure. All were in holiday dress and looked at one another cheerily. It appeared as if the inhabitants of this town lived peacefully and amicably—even happily. But it was only in appearance.

Peredonov, a schoolmaster in the gymnasia, stood among his friends, and as he looked at them gravely out of his small, stealthy eyes, across the golden rims of his spectacles, he remarked:

"Princess Volchanskaya herself made the promise to Vara. 'As soon,' she said, 'as you marry him, I'll hunt up an inspector's job for him.'"

"But how can you think of marrying Varvara Dmitrievna?" asked the red-faced Falastov. "She's your first cousin."

Everyone laughed. Peredonov's usually rosy, unconcerned, somnolent face showed anger.

"Second cousin," he said gruffly, as he looked angrily past his companions.

"Did the Princess give you the promise herself?" asked Routilov, a tall, pale, smartly dressed man.

"She didn't give it to me, but to Vara," answered Peredonov.

"Of course, you are ready to believe all she tells you," said Routilov with animation. "It's easy enough to make up a tale. Why didn't you see the Princess herself?"

"This is how it was: I went with Vara, but we didn't find her in, missed her by just five minutes," explained Peredonov. "She had gone to the country, and wouldn't be back for three weeks or so. I couldn't wait for her, because I had to be back here for the exams."

"It sounds suspicious," laughed Routilov, showing his yellow teeth.

Peredonov grew thoughtful. His companions left him; Routilov alone remained.

"Of course," said Peredonov, "I can marry whom I like. Varvara is not the only one."

"You're quite right, Ardalyon Borisitch, anyone would be glad to marry you," Routilov encouraged him.

They passed out of the gate, and walked slowly in the unpaved and dusty square. Peredonov said:

"But what about the Princess? She'll be angry if I chuck Varvara."

"What's the Princess to you?" said Routilov. "You're not going with her to a kitten's christening. She ought to get you the billet first. There'll be time enough to tie yourself up—you're taking things too much on trust!"

"That's true," agreed Peredonov irresolutely.

"You ought to say to Varvara," said Routilov persuasively, "'First the billet, my dear girl, then I'll believe you.' Once you get your place, you can marry whom you like. You'd better take one of my sisters—your choice of the three. Smart, educated, young ladies, any one of them, I can say without flattery, a queen to Varvara. She's not fit to tie their shoe-strings."

"Go on," shouted Peredonov.

"It's true. What's your Varvara? Here, smell this."

Routilov bent down, broke off a fleecy stalk of henbane, crumpled it up in his hand, together with the leaves and dirty white flowers, and crushing it all between his fingers, put it under Peredonov's nose. The heavy unpleasant odour made Peredonov frown. Routilov observed:

"To crush like this, and to throw away—there's your Varvara for you; there's a big difference between her and my sisters, let me tell you, my good fellow. They are fine, lively girls—take the one you like—but you needn't be afraid of getting bored with any of them. They're quite young too—the eldest is three times younger than your Varvara."

Routilov said all this in his usual brisk and happy manner, smiling—but he was tall and narrow-chested, and seemed consumptive and frail, while from under his new and fashionable hat his scant, close-trimmed bright hair stuck out pitifully.

"No less than three times!" observed Peredonov dryly, as he took off his spectacles and began to wipe them.

"It's true enough!" exclaimed Routilov. "But you'd better look out, and don't be slow about it, while I'm alive; they too have a good opinion of themselves—if you try later you may be too late. Any one of them would have you with great pleasure."

"Yes, everyone falls in love with me here," said Peredonov with a grave boastfulness.

"There, you see, it's for you to take advantage of the moment," said Routilov persuasively.

"The chief thing is that she mustn't be lean," said Peredonov with anxiety in his voice. "I prefer a fat one."

"Don't you worry on that account," said Routilov warmly. "Even now they are plump enough girls, but they have far from reached their full growth; all this will come in good time. As soon as they marry, they'll improve, like the oldest—well, you've seen our Larissa, a regular fishpie!"

"I'd marry," said Peredonov, "but I'm afraid that Vara will make a row."

"If you're afraid of a row—I'll tell you what you ought to do," said Routilov with a sly smile. "You ought to make quick work of it; marry, say, to-day or to-morrow, and suddenly show up at home with your young wife. Say the word, and I'll arrange it for to-morrow evening? Which one do you want?"

Peredonov suddenly burst into loud, cackling laughter.

"Well, I see you like the idea—it's all settled then?" asked Routilov.

Peredonov stopped laughing quite as suddenly, and said gravely, quietly, almost in a whisper:

"She'll inform against me—that miserable jade!"

"She'll do nothing of the sort," said Routilov persuasively.

"Or she'll poison me," whispered Peredonov in fear.

"You leave it all to me," Routilov prevailed upon him, "I'll see that you are well protected——"

"I shan't marry without a dot," said Peredonov sullenly.

Routilov was not astonished by the new turn in the thoughts of his surly companion. He replied with the same warmth:

"You're an odd fellow. Of course, my sisters have a dot. Are you satisfied? I'll run along now and arrange everything. Only keep your mouth shut, not a breath, do you hear, not to anyone!"

He shook Peredonov's hand, and made off in great haste. Peredonov looked silently after him. A picture rose up in his mind of the Routilov girls, always cheerful and laughing. An immodest thought squeezed a degrading likeness of a smile to his lips—it appeared for an instant and vanished. A confused restlessness stirred within him.

"What about the Princess?" he reflected. "The others have the cash without her power; but if I marry Varvara I'll fall into an inspector's job, and later perhaps they'll make me a Head-Master."

He looked after the bustling, scampering Routilov and thought maliciously:

"Let him run!"

And this thought gave him a lingering, vague pleasure. Then he began to feel sad because he was alone; he pulled his hat down over his forehead, knitted his bright eyebrows, and quickly turned towards his home across the unpaved, deserted streets, overgrown with pearl grass and white flowers, and water-cress and grass that had been stamped down into the mud.

Someone called to him in a quick, quiet voice:

"Ardalyon Borisitch, come in to us."

Peredonov raised his gloomy eyes, and looked angrily beyond the hedge. In the garden behind the gate stood Natalya Afanasyevna Vershina, a small, slender, dark-skinned woman, black-browed and black-eyed, and all in black. She was smoking a cigarette, in a dark, cherry-wood mouthpiece, and smiling lightly, as though she knew something that was not to be said, but to be smiled at. Not so much by words, as by her light, quick movements, she asked Peredonov into her garden; she opened the gate and stood aside, smiled invitingly, and at the same time motioned persuasively with her hands, as if to say: "Enter, why do you stand there?"

And Peredonov entered, submitting to her witching, silent movements. But he soon paused on the sand path where a few broken twigs caught his eye, and he looked at his watch.

"It's time for lunch," he grumbled.

Though his watch had served him a long time, yet even now, in the presence of people, he would glance with satisfaction at its large gold case. It was twenty minutes to twelve. Peredonov decided that he would remain for a short time. He walked morosely after Vershina along the garden-path, past the neglected clumps of raspberry canes and currants with their red and black clusters.

The garden was growing yellow and variegated with fruits and late flowers. There were many fruit and other trees and bushes; low-spreading apple trees, round-leafed pear trees, lindens, cherry trees with smooth, glossy leaves, plum trees and honeysuckle. The elderberry trees were red with berries. Close to the fence was a dense growth of Siberian geraniums—small pale-rose flowers with purple veins. Thorny purple buds stood out with intense vividness among the bushes. A small, one-storey, grey, wooden house stood near by, and a path at its door opened out wide into the garden. It seemed charming and cosy. A part of the vegetable garden was visible behind it. The dry poppy heads rocked there, as well as the large, white-yellow caps of camomile. The yellow heads of sunflowers were beginning to droop with ripeness, while among the useful herbs, some hemlock lifted its white, and the hemlock geranium its pale purple umbrellas. Here bright yellow buttercups and small slipper flowers also flourished.

"Were you at Mass?" asked Vershina.

"Yes, I was," answered Peredonov gruffly.

"I hear Marta has just returned also," said Vershina. "She often goes to our church. I often laugh at her. 'On whose account,' I say to her, 'do you go to our church?' She blushes and says nothing. Let us go and sit in the summer-house," she added abruptly.

In the garden, in the shade of the spreading maples, stood an old, grey little summer-house. It had three small steps and a mossy floor, low walls, six roughly-cut posts, a sloping slate roof with six angles. Marta was sitting in the summer-house, still in her best clothes. She had on a brightly coloured dress with bows, which were very unbecoming to her. Her short sleeves showed her sharp, red elbows and her large, red hands. In other respects Marta was not unpleasant to look at. Her freckles did not spoil her face; she was even considered something of a beauty, especially by her own people, the Poles, of whom there were a number in the district. Marta was rolling cigarettes for Vershina. She was very anxious for Peredonov to see her and admire her. This desire gave her ingenuous face an expression of agitated affability. It was not that Marta was altogether in love with Peredonov but rather that Vershina wanted to get her a home—for her family was a large one. Marta was anxious to please Vershina, with whom she had lived several months, ever since the death of Vershina's old husband; not only on her own account but on that of her young brother, a schoolboy, who was also living with Vershina.

Vershina and Peredonov entered the summer-house. Peredonov greeted Marta rather gloomily, and sat down. He chose a place where one of the posts protected his back from the wind and kept the draught out of his ears. He glanced at Marta's yellow boots with their rose pompoms and thought that they were trying to entrap him into marrying Marta. He always thought this when he met girls who were pleasant to him. He only noticed faults in Marta—many freckles, large hands and a coarse skin. He knew that her father held a small farm on lease, about six versts from the town. The income was small and there were many children: Marta had left her preparatory school, his son was at school, the other children were still smaller.

"Let me give you some beer," said Vershina quickly.

There were some glasses, two bottles of beer and a tin box of granulated sugar on the table, and a spoon which had been dipped in the beer lay beside them.

"All right," said Peredonov abruptly.

Vershina glanced at Marta, who filled the glass and handed it to Peredonov. A half-pleased, half-timorous smile passed over her face as she did this.

"Put some sugar into the beer," suggested Vershina.

Marta passed Peredonov the tin sugar-box. But Peredonov exclaimed irritatedly:

"No, sugar makes it disgusting!"

"What do you mean?" said Vershina, "sugar makes it delicious."

"Very delicious," said Marta.

"I say disgusting!" repeated Peredonov, looking angrily at the sugar.

"As you please," said Vershina, and changing the subject at once, she remarked with a laugh:

"I get very tired of Cherepnin."

Marta also laughed. Peredonov looked indifferent: he did not take any interest in other people's lives—he did not care for people and he never thought of them except as they might contribute to his own benefit and pleasure. Vershina smiled with self-satisfaction and said:

"He thinks that I will marry him."

"He's very cheeky," said Marta, not because she thought so, but because she wished to please and flatter Vershina.

"Last night he looked into our window," related Vershina. "He got into the garden while we were at supper. There was a rain-tub under the window, full of water. It was covered with a plank. The water was hidden. He climbed on the tub and looked in the window. As the lamp on the table was lighted he could see us, but we couldn't see him. Suddenly we heard a noise. We were frightened at first and ran outside. The plank had slipped and he had fallen into the water. However, he climbed out before we got there and ran away, leaving wet tracks on the path. We recognised him by his back."

Marta laughed shrilly and happily like a good-natured child. Vershina told this in her usual quick, monotonous voice and then was suddenly silent, and smiled at the corners of her mouth, which puckered up her smooth, dry face. The smoke-darkened teeth showed themselves slightly. Peredonov reflected a moment and suddenly burst into a laugh. He did not always respond at once to what he thought was funny—his receptivity was sluggish and dull.

Vershina smoked one cigarette after another. She could not live without tobacco smoke under her nose.

"We'll soon be neighbours," announced Peredonov.

Vershina glanced quickly at Marta, who flushed slightly and looked at Peredonov with a timorous air of expectation, and then at once turned away towards the garden.

"So you're moving?" asked Vershina; "why?"

"It's too far from the gymnasia," explained Peredonov.

Vershina smiled incredulously.

It's more likely, she thought, he wants to be nearer Marta.

"But you've lived there for several years," she said.

"Yes," said Peredonov angrily. "And the landlady's a swine."

"Why?" asked Vershina, with an ambiguous smile.

Peredonov grew somewhat animated.

"She's repapered the rooms most damnably," he exclaimed, "one piece doesn't match another. When you open the dining-room door you find quite another pattern. Most of the room has bunches of large and small flowers, while behind the door there is a pattern of stripes and nails. And the colours are different too. We shouldn't have noticed it, if Falastov had not come and laughed. And everybody laughs at it."

"It certainly must be ridiculous," agreed Vershina.

"We're not telling her that we're going to leave," said Peredonov, and at this he lowered his voice. "We're going to find new apartments and we shall go without giving notice."

"Of course," said Vershina.

"Or else she'll make a row," said Peredonov, with a touch of anxiety in his eyes. "That means that we should have to pay her a month's rent for her beastly hole."

Peredonov laughed with joy at the thought of leaving the house without paying.

"She's bound to make a demand," observed Vershina.

"Let her—she won't get anything out of me," replied Peredonov angrily.

"We went to Peter[1] and we made no use of the house while we were away."

"But you had rented it."

"What then? She ought to make a discount; why should we have to pay for time when we weren't there? Besides, she is very impertinent."

"Well, your landlady is impertinent because she's yours—your cousin is particularly quarrelsome," said Vershina, with an emphasis on the "cousin."

Peredonov frowned and looked dully in front of him with his half-sleepy eyes. Vershina changed the subject. Peredonov pulled a caramel out of his pocket, tore the paper off and began to chew it. He happened to glance at Marta and thought that she wanted a caramel.

"Shall I give her one or not?" thought Peredonov. "She's not worth it. I suppose I ought to give her one to show that I'm not stingy. After all, I've got a pocketful."

And he pulled out a handful of caramels.

"Here you are!" he said, and held out the sweets, first to Vershina and then to Marta.

"They're very good bonbons," he said, "expensive ones—thirty kopecks a pound."

Each of the women took a sweet.

"Take more," he said, "I've lots of them. They're very nice bonbons—I wouldn't eat bad ones."

"Thank you, I don't want any more," said Vershina in her quick, monotonous voice.

And Marta repeated after her the same words, but with less decision.

Peredonov glanced incredulously at Marta and said:

"What do you mean—you don't want them? Have another."

He took a single caramel for himself from the handful and laid the others before Marta. She smiled without speaking and bent her head a little.

"Little idiot!" thought Peredonov, "she doesn't even know how to thank one properly."

He did not know what to converse about with Marta. She had no interest for him, like all objects and people with which he had no well-defined relations, either pleasant or unpleasant.

The rest of the beer was poured into Peredonov's glass. Vershina glanced at Marta.

"I'll get it," said Marta.

She always guessed what Vershina wanted without being told.

"Send Vladya—he's in the garden," suggested Vershina.

"Vladislav!" shouted Marta.

"Yes?" answered the boy from so close that it seemed as if he had been listening to them.

"Bring some more beer—two bottles," said Marta, "they're in the box in the corridor."

Vladislav soon came back noiselessly, handed the beer to Marta through the window and greeted Peredonov.

"How are you?" asked Peredonov with a scowl. "How many bottles of beer have you got away with to-day?"

Vladislav smiled in a constrained way and said:

"I don't drink beer."

He was a boy of about fourteen with a freckled face like Marta's, and with uneasy, clumsy movements like hers. He was dressed in a blouse of coarse linen.

Marta began to talk to her brother in whispers. They both laughed. Peredonov looked suspiciously at them. Whenever people laughed in his presence without his knowing the reason he always supposed that they were laughing at him. Vershina felt disturbed and tried to catch Marta's eye. But Peredonov himself showed his annoyance by asking:

"What are you laughing at?"

Marta started and turned towards him, not knowing what to say. Vladislav smiled, looking at Peredonov, and flushed slightly.

"It's very rude," said Peredonov, "to laugh like that before guests. Were you laughing at me?"

Marta blushed and Vladislav looked frightened.

"Oh! no," said Marta. "We weren't laughing at you. We were talking about our own affairs."

"A secret?" exclaimed Peredonov angrily. "It is rude to discuss secrets before guests."

"It isn't at all a secret," said Marta, "but we laughed because Vladya hasn't all his clothes on and feels bashful about coming in."

Peredonov was mollified and began to think of jokes about Vladya and presently gave him a caramel.

"Marta, bring me my black shawl," said Vershina. "And at the same time look into the oven to see how that pie's getting on."

Marta went out obediently. She understood that Vershina wanted to talk with Peredonov, and felt glad of the respite.

"And you run away and play, Vladya," said Vershina, "there's nothing for you to chatter about here."

Vladya ran off and they could hear the sand crunching under his feet. Vershina gave a quick, cautious side-glance at Peredonov through the clouds of cigarette smoke she was ceaselessly puffing out. Peredonov sat solemnly and gazed straight in front in a befogged sort of way and chewed a caramel. He felt pleased because the others had gone—otherwise they might have laughed again. Though he was quite certain that they had not been laughing at him, the annoyance remained—just as after contact with stinging nettles the pain remains and increases even though the nettles are left behind.

"Why don't you get married?" said Vershina very abruptly, "What are you waiting for, Ardalyon Borisitch. You must forgive me if I speak frankly, but Varvara is not good enough for you."

Peredonov passed his hand over his slightly ruffled chestnut-brown hair and announced with a surly dignity:

"There is no one here good enough for me!"

"Don't say that," replied Vershina, with a wry smile. "There are plenty of girls better than she is here and every one of them would marry you."

She knocked the ash off her cigarette with a decisive movement as if she were emphasising her remark with an exclamation point.

"Everyone wouldn't suit me," retorted Peredonov.

"We're not discussing everyone," said Vershina quickly, "you're not the kind of man who'd run after a dot if the girl were a fine girl. You yourself earn quite enough, thank God."

"No," replied Peredonov, "it would be more of an advantage for me to marry Varvara. The Princess has promised her patronage. She will give me a good billet," he went on with grave animation.

Vershina smiled faintly. Her entire wrinkled face, dark as if saturated with tobacco smoke, expressed a condescending incredulousness. She asked:

"Did the Princess herself tell you this?" She laid an emphasis on the word "you."

"Not me, but Varvara," admitted Peredonov. "But it comes to the same thing."

"You rely too much on your cousin's word," said Vershina spitefully. "But tell me, is she much older than you? Say, by fifteen years? Or more? she must be under fifty."

"Nonsense," said Peredonov angrily, "she's not yet thirty!"

Vershina laughed.

"Please tell me," she said with unconcealed derision. "Surely, she looks much older than you. Of course, it's not my business, it's not my affair. Still, it is a pity that such a good-looking, clever young man should not have the position he deserves."

Peredonov surveyed himself with great self-satisfaction. But there was no smile on his pink face and he seemed hurt because everybody did not appreciate him as Vershina did.

"Even without patronage you'll go far," continued Vershina, "surely the authorities will recognise your value. Why should you hang on to Varvara? And none even of the Routilov girls would suit you; they're too frivolous and you need a more practical wife. You might do much worse than marry Marta!"

Peredonov looked at his watch.

"Time to go home," he observed and rose to say good-bye.

Vershina was convinced that Peredonov was leaving because she had put to him a vital question and that it was only his indecision that prevented him from speaking about Marta immediately.

[1] St. Petersburg.

[CHAPTER II]

Varvara Dmitrievna Maloshina, the mistress of Peredonov, awaited him. She was dressed in a slovenly fashion, and her face was powdered and rouged.

Jam tarts were being baked in the oven for lunch: Peredonov was very fond of them. Varvara ran about the kitchen on her high heels, preparing everything for Peredonov's arrival. Varvara was afraid that Natalya, the stout, freckled servant-maid, would steal one of the tarts and possibly more. That was why Varvara did not leave the kitchen and, as she habitually did, was abusing the servant. Upon her wrinkled face, which still kept the remains of beauty, there was a continual expression of discontented maliciousness.

A feeling of gloom and irritation came over Peredonov, as always happened when he returned home. He entered the dining-room noisily, flung his hat on the window-sill, sat down at the table and shouted:

"Vara! Where's my food?"

Varvara brought in the food, skilfully limping in her narrow, fashionable shoes, and waited upon Peredonov herself. When she brought the coffee Peredonov bent down to the steaming glass and smelt it. Varvara was disturbed and looked a little frightened; she asked:

"What's the matter with you, Ardalyon Borisitch? Does the coffee smell of anything?"

Peredonov looked morosely at her and said:

"I'm smelling to see whether you haven't put poison in it!"

"What's the matter with you, Ardalyon Borisitch?" said Varvara again. "God help you, how did you get that into your head?"

"You mixed hemlock with it, perhaps," he grumbled.

"What could I gain by poisoning you?" asked Varvara reassuringly. "Don't make a fool of yourself."

Peredonov continued smelling the coffee, but eventually became reassured.

"If it were poison," he said, "you'd be able to tell by the heavy smell, but you have to put your nose right into the steam!"

He was silent a while and then suddenly said, spitefully and sarcastically:

"The Princess!"

Varvara looked distressed.

"What about the Princess?" asked Varvara.

"The Princess," he said, "let her give me the job first and then I'll get married—you write her that."

"But you know, Ardalyon Borisitch," Varvara began in a persuasive voice, "that the Princess had made her promise on condition that I marry first. Otherwise, it is awkward for me to ask on your behalf."

"Write her that we're already married," said Peredonov, rejoicing in his sudden inspiration.

Varvara was for a moment disconcerted, but quickly recovered herself, and said:

"What's the use of lying, the Princess might investigate. You'd better arrange the date for the marriage; it's time to begin making the dress."

"What dress?" demanded Peredonov, gruffly.

"Could anyone get married in these rags?" shouted Varvara. "You had better give me some money, Ardalyon Borisitch, for the dress."

"Are you preparing yourself for your coffin?" asked Peredonov.

"You're a beast, Ardalyon Borisitch!"

Peredonov suddenly felt a desire to provoke her still further. He asked her:

"Varvara, do you know where I've been?"

"Where?" she inquired anxiously.

"At Vershina's," he said, and burst out laughing.

"Well, you were in nice company, I must say!"

"I saw Marta," Peredonov continued.

"She's covered with freckles," said Varvara, spitefully. "And she's got a mouth that stretches from ear to ear. You might as well sew up her mouth, like a frog's."

"Anyway, she's handsomer than you," said Peredonov. "I think I'll take her and marry her."

"You dare marry her," shouted Varvara, reddening and trembling with rage, "and I'll burn her eyes out with vitriol!"

"I'd like to spit on you," said Peredonov, quite calmly.

"Just try it!" said Varvara.

"Well, I will," answered Peredonov.

He rose, and with a sluggish and indifferent expression, spat in her face.

"Pig!" said Varvara, as quietly as if his spitting on her had refreshed her. And she began to wipe her face with a table napkin. Peredonov was silent. Latterly he had been more brusque with her than usual. And even in the beginning he had never been particularly gentle with her. Encouraged by his silence, she repeated more loudly:

"Pig! You are a pig!"

Just then they heard in the next room the bleating of an almost sheep-like voice.

"Don't make such a noise," said Peredonov. "There's someone coming."

"It's only Pavloushka," answered Varvara.

Pavel Vassilyevitch Volodin entered with a loud, gay laugh. He was a young man who, face, manners and all, strangely resembled a young ram; his hair, like a ram's, was curly; his eyes, protruding and dull; everything, about him, in fact, suggested a lively ram—a stupid young man. He was a carpenter by trade. He had first studied in a Manual Training School, but now was an instructor of the trade in the local school.

"How are you, old friend?" he said gaily. "You're at home, drinking coffee, and here am I! Here we are together again!"

"Natashka, bring a third spoon," shouted Varvara.

"Eat, Pavloushka," said Peredonov, and it was evident that he was anxious to be hospitable to Volodin. "You know, old chap, I shall soon get an inspector's billet—the Princess has promised Vara."

Volodin seemed pleased and laughed.

"And the future inspector is drinking coffee," he exclaimed, slapping Peredonov on the back.

"And you think it's easy to get an inspector's job," said Peredonov. "Once you're reported, that's the end of you."

"And who's going to report you?" asked Varvara.

"There are plenty to do that," said Peredonov. "They might say I'd been reading Pisarev.[1] And there you are!"

"But, Ardalyon Borisitch, you ought to put Pisarev behind your other books," advised Volodin, sniggering.

Peredonov glanced cautiously at Volodin and said:

"Perhaps I've never even had Pisarev. Won't you have a drink, Pavloushka?"

Volodin stuck out his lower lip and made a significant face, like a man who was conscious of his own value, and bent his head rather like a ram:

"I'm always ready to drink in company," he said, "but not on my lonesome!"

And Peredonov was also always ready to drink. They drank their vodka and ate the jam tarts afterwards.

Suddenly Peredonov splashed the dregs of his coffee-cup on the wall-paper. Volodin goggled his sheepish eyes, and gazed in astonishment. The wall-paper was soiled and torn. Volodin asked:

"What are you doing to your wall-paper?"

Peredonov and Varvara laughed.

"It's to spite the landlady," said Varvara. "We're leaving soon. Only don't you chatter."

"Splendid!" shouted Volodin, and joined in the laughter.

Peredonov walked up to the wall and began to wipe the soles of his boots on it. Volodin followed his example. Peredonov said:

"We always dirty the walls after every meal, so that they'll remember us when we've gone!"

"What a mess you've made!" exclaimed Volodin, delightedly.

"Won't Irishka be surprised," said Varvara, with a dry, malicious laugh.

And all three, standing before the wall, began to spit at it, to tear the paper, and to smear it with their boots. Afterwards, tired but pleased, they ceased.

Peredonov bent down and picked up the cat, a fat, white, ugly beast. He began to torment the animal, pulling its ears, and tail, and then shook it by the neck. Volodin laughed gleefully and suggested other methods of tormenting the animal.

"Ardalyon Borisitch, blow into his eyes! Brush his fur backwards!"

The cat snarled, and tried to get away, but dared not show its claws. It was always thrashed for scratching. At last this amusement palled on Peredonov and he let the cat go.

"Listen, Ardalyon Borisitch, I've got something to tell you," began Volodin. "I kept thinking of it all the way here and now I'd almost forgotten it."

"Well?" asked Peredonov.

"I know you like sweet things," said Volodin, "and I know one that will make you lick your fingers!"

"There's nothing you could teach me about things to eat," remarked Peredonov.

Volodin looked offended.

"Perhaps," he said, "you know all the good things that are made in your village, but how can you know all the good things that are made in my village, if you've never been there?"

And satisfied that this argument clinched the matter, Volodin laughed, like a sheep bleating.

"In your village they gorge themselves on dead cats," said Peredonov.

"Permit me, Ardalyon Borisitch," said Volodin. "It is possible that in your village they eat dead kittens. We won't talk about it. But surely you've never eaten erli?"

"No, that's true," confessed Peredonov.

"What sort of food is that?" asked Varvara.

"It's this," explained Volodin, "You know what koutia[2] is?"

"Well, who doesn't know?" said Varvara.

"Well, this is what it is," went on Volodin. "Ground koutia, raisins, sugar and almonds. That's erli."

And Volodin began to describe minutely how they cook erli in his village. Peredonov listened to him in an annoyed way.

"Koutia," thought Peredonov, "why does he mention that? Does he want me to be dead?"

Volodin suggested:

"If you'd like to have it done properly, give me the stuff, and I'll cook it myself for you."

"Turn a goat into a vegetable garden," said Peredonov, gravely.

"He might drop some poison-powder into it," thought Peredonov.

Volodin was offended again.

"Now if you think, Ardalyon Borisitch, that I shall steal some of your sugar, you're mistaken. I don't want your sugar!"

"Don't go on making a fool of yourself," interrupted Varvara. "You know how particular he is. You'd better come here and do it."

"Yes, and you'll have to eat it yourself," said Peredonov.

"Why?" asked Volodin, his voice trembling with indignation.

"Because it's nasty stuff."

"As you like, Ardalyon Borisitch," said Volodin, shrugging his shoulders. "I only wanted to please you, and if you don't want it, you don't want it."

"Now tell us about the reprimand the General gave you," said Peredonov.

"What General?" asked Volodin, and flushed violently as he protruded an offended lower lip.

"It's no use pretending. We've heard it," said Peredonov.

Varvara grinned.

"Excuse me, Ardalyon Borisitch," said Volodin, hotly. "Likely enough you've heard about it, but you haven't heard the right story. Now I'll tell you exactly what happened."

"Fire away," said Peredonov.

"It happened three days ago, about this time," began Volodin. "In our school, as you know, repairs are going on in the workroom. And here, if you please, comes in Veriga with our inspector to look around, and we are working in the back room. So far, good. It doesn't matter what Veriga wanted or why he came—that's no concern of mine. Suppose he is a nobleman? Still he's no connection with our school. But that's no concern of mine. He comes in, and we don't take any notice of him and go on working. When suddenly they come into our room, and Veriga, if you please, has his hat on."

"That was an insult to you," said Peredonov.

"But you must know," interrupted Volodin, eagerly. "There's an ikon in our room, and we had our hats off. And he suddenly appears like a Mohammedan dog. And I up and said to him quietly, and with great dignity: 'Your Excellency,' I say to him, 'Will you be good enough to take your hat off, because,' I say to him, 'there's an ikon in the room.' Now, was that the right thing to say?" asked Volodin, opening his eyes, questioningly.

"That was clever, Pavloushka," shouted Peredonov. "He got what he deserved."

"Yes, that was quite proper," chimed in Varvara. "People like that shouldn't be let off. You're a smart young fellow, Pavel Vassilyevitch."

Volodin, with an air of injured innocence, went on:

"And then he says to me: 'Each to his trade.' Then he turns and goes out. That's all there was to it and nothing else."

Volodin nevertheless felt himself a hero. Peredonov, to mollify him, gave him a caramel.

A new visitor arrived—Sofya Efimovna Prepolovenskaya, the wife of the forester, a fat woman, with a face half good-natured, half cunning—brisk in her movements. She sat down at the table and asked Volodin slyly:

"Pavel Vassilyevitch, why do you come so often to visit Varvara Dmitrievna?"

"I don't come to visit Varvara Dmitrievna," answered Volodin bashfully, "but to see Ardalyon Borisitch."

"You haven't yet fallen in love with anyone?" asked Prepolovenskaya with a laugh.

Everyone knew Volodin was looking for a wife with a dowry, offered himself to many and was always rejected. Prepolovenskaya's joke seemed to him out of place. In a manner resembling that of an injured sheep, he said in a trembling voice:

"If I fell in love, Sofya Efimovna, that wouldn't concern anyone except my own self and her. And in such an affair you wouldn't be considered."

But Prepolovenskaya refused to be suppressed.

"Suppose," she said, "that you fell in love with Varvara Dmitrievna, who would make jam tarts for Ardalyon Borisitch?"

Volodin again protruded his lips and lifted his eyebrows. He was at a loss what to say.

"Don't be faint-hearted, Pavel Vassilyevitch," Prepolovenskaya went on. "Why aren't you engaged? You're young and handsome."

"Perhaps Varvara Dmitrievna wouldn't have me," said Volodin, sniggering.

"Why shouldn't she? You're much too timid!"

"And perhaps I wouldn't have her," said Volodin, in desperation. "Perhaps I don't want to marry other people's cousins; perhaps I have a cousin of my own in my village."

He was already beginning to believe that Varvara would marry him. Varvara was angry; she considered Volodin a fool, and moreover, his wages were only three-quarters of Peredonov's.

Prepolovenskaya wanted to marry Peredonov to her sister, the fat daughter of a priest. That is why she tried to create a quarrel between Peredonov and Varvara.

"Why are you trying to marry us?" asked Varvara, in an irritated way. "You'd better try to marry your little fool of a sister to Pavel Vassilyevitch."

"Why should I take him from you?" said Prepolovenskaya, jokingly.

Prepolovenskaya's jests gave a new turn to Peredonov's slow thoughts, and the erli had already taken possession of his mind. Why did Volodin advise such a dish? Peredonov disliked thinking. He believed at once everything he was told; that was why he began to believe that Volodin was in love with Varvara. He thought: they would entangle Varvara, and then when he left for the inspector's job, they would poison him on the way with erlis, and Volodin would take his place; he would be buried as Volodin, and Volodin would become inspector. A clever trick!

There was a sudden noise in the passage. Peredonov and Varvara were frightened. Peredonov fixed his screwed-up eyes on the door. Varvara crept up to the parlour door, looked in, then, just as quietly, on tip-toe, balancing her arms and smiling in a distracted way, returned to the table. From the passage came a noise and shrill outcries as if two people were wrestling. Varvara whispered:

"That's Ershova, frightfully drunk. Natashka won't let her in and she's trying to get into the parlour."

"What shall we do?" asked Peredonov, fearfully.

"I suppose we'd better go into the parlour," decided Varvara, "so that she shan't get in here."

They entered the parlour and closed the door tightly behind them. Varvara went into the passage in the faint hope of restraining the landlady, or of persuading her to sit down in the kitchen. But the insolent woman kept pushing her way in, propped herself up against the door-post and poured out abusive compliments on the whole company. Peredonov and Varvara fussed about her and tried to make her sit down on a chair near the passage and farther from the dining-room. Varvara brought her from the kitchen, on a tray, vodka, beer and some tarts, but the landlady would not sit nor drink anything and kept on edging towards the dining-room, but she could not exactly find the door. Her face was red, her clothes were disordered, she was filthy and smelt of vodka, even at a distance. She shouted:

"No! You must let me sit at your own table. I'll not have it on a tray. I want it on a tablecloth. I'm the landlady and I will be respected. Never mind if I'm drunk. I'm at least honest and a good wife to my husband."

Varvara, smiling at once with contempt and fear, said: "Yes, we know."

Ershova winked at Varvara, laughed hoarsely and snapped her fingers defiantly. She became more and more arrogant.

"Cousin!" she shouted. "We know the sort of cousin you are. Why doesn't the Head-Master's wife come to see you, eh?"

"Don't make so much noise," said Varvara.

But Ershova began to shout even louder:

"How dare you order me about? I'm in my own house and I can do what I please. If I like I can have you thrown out so that there'd not even be a smell of you left behind. Only I'm too kind-hearted."

Meanwhile Volodin and Prepolovenskaya sat timidly at the window in silence. Prepolovenskaya smiled slightly, looking at the shrew out of the corner of her eye, but pretended that she was looking into the street. Volodin sat with an injured expression on his face.

Ershova eventually became more good-humoured and gave Varvara a friendly slap on the shoulder, saying with a drunken smile:

"Now listen to me. Put me at your table and treat me like a lady. Then give me some zhamochki[3], and treat your landlady decently. Come, my dear girl!"

"Here are some tarts," said Varvara.

"I don't want tarts!" shouted Ershova. "I want some zhamochki." And she waved her hands. "The masters have them, and I want some too."

"I haven't any zhamochki for you," answered Varvara, growing bolder as the landlady became more good-tempered. "Now here's some tarts. Gorge yourself!"

Ershova suddenly perceived the door into the dining-room, and cried out furiously:

"Out of my way, viper!"

She pushed Varvara aside and threw herself towards the door. There was no time to restrain her. Lowering her head and clenching her fists, she broke into the dining-room, throwing back the door with a crash. There she paused just inside the door and saw the soiled wall-paper. She uttered a long "whew" of astonishment. She stood with her hands on her hips and her legs crossed, shouting with rage:

"Then it's true that you're leaving!"

"Who put that into your head, Irinya Stepanovna?" said Varvara, trembling. "We've no such idea. Someone's been fooling you."

"We're not going anywhere," declared Peredonov. "We're quite contented here."

The landlady did not listen to them, she walked up to the panic-stricken Varvara, and shook her fist in her face. Peredonov got behind Varvara. He would have run away, but he wanted to see if Varvara and the landlady would come to blows.

"I will step on one of your legs," exclaimed the landlady, furiously, "and tear you in half with the other."

"Be quiet, Irinya Stepanovna," said Varvara, persuasively. "We have visitors."

"You can bring your visitors along too," said the landlady. "I'll do the same to them."

She reeled and made a dash into the parlour, and suddenly changing her demeanour and tactics she said quietly to Prepolovenskaya, bowing so low before her that she almost fell on the floor:

"My dear lady, Sofya Efimovna, forgive a drunken old woman; I have something I'd like to say to you. You come to visit these people and yet you don't know that they're gossiping about your sister. And who to, d'you suppose? Me! A bootmaker's drunken wife! And why? So I'd tell everyone—that's why!"

Varvara grew purple in the face and said:

"I said nothing of the sort."

"You didn't? Do you mean to deny it, you mean cat?" shouted Ershova, coming up to Varvara, with clenched fists.

"Be quiet, will you?" muttered Varvara, in confusion.

"No," said the landlady, spitefully, "I won't be quiet," and she turned again to Prepolovenskaya. "Do you know what she says, the little beast? She tried to make out that your sister is carrying on with your husband!"

Sofya's sly eyes gleamed angrily at Varvara; she rose and said with a feigned laugh:

"Thank you humbly, I didn't expect that."

"Liar!" screamed Varvara, turning on Ershova.

Ershova gave an angry exclamation, stamped her foot, shook her hand at Varvara, and turned again to Prepolovenskaya.

"Yes, and do you know what he says about you, ma'am? He makes out that you carried on before you met your husband. That's the sort of dirty people they are! Spit in their mugs, my good lady! It's no use having anything to do with such low creatures!"

Prepolovenskaya flushed, and went silently into the passage. Peredonov ran after her, trying to explain:

"She's lying, don't believe her. I only said once before her that you were a fool and that was in a spiteful mood. But more than that, honest to God, I never said anything. She invented it."

Prepolovenskaya reassured him:

"Don't think about it, Ardalyon Borisitch, I can see myself that she's drunk and babbling. Only, why do you permit this in your house?"

"Well, what's to be done with her?" asked Peredonov.

Prepolovenskaya, confused and angry, was putting on her jacket. Peredonov did not offer to help her. He kept on mumbling excuses, but she paid no attention to him. He returned to the parlour. Ershova began to reproach him loudly, while Varvara ran out on the verandah to try and mollify Prepolovenskaya:

"You know yourself what a fool he is, he sometimes says anything that comes into his head."

"All right, all right! Don't mention it," replied Prepolovenskaya. "A drunken woman might babble anything."

Tall, dense nettles grew in the yard near the verandah. Prepolovenskaya smiled slightly and the last shadow of displeasure vanished from her plump white face. She became affable again towards Varvara. She would be revenged without an open quarrel. Together they went into the garden to wait until the landlady's eruption was over.

Prepolovenskaya kept looking at the nettles which grew in abundance along the garden fence. She said at last:

"You have enough nettles here. Don't you find any use for them?"

Varvara laughed and answered:

"What an idea! What could I do with them?"

"If you don't mind, I'd like to take some with me, as I haven't any."

"What will you do with them?" asked Varvara, in astonishment.

"Oh, I'll find a use for them," said Prepolovenskaya, smiling.

"But, my dear, do tell me for what?" entreated Varvara, inquisitively.

Prepolovenskaya, bending towards Varvara, whispered in her ear:

"By rubbing your body with nettles, you keep fat. That's why my Genichka is so plump."

It was well known that Peredonov preferred fat women, and that he detested thin ones. Varvara was distressed because she was thin and was growing still thinner. How could she get a little plumper?—was one of her chief worries. She used to ask everyone: "Do you know any remedy for thinness?" And now Prepolovenskaya was convinced that Varvara would follow her suggestion and rub herself with nettles, and in this way be her own punisher.

[1] Pisarev (1840-68), a revolutionary writer and a precursor of Nihilism.

[2] A kind of rice pudding eaten at funerals in Russia.

[3] Zhamochki, an apparently invented word, meaning something particularly nice to eat.

[CHAPTER III]

Peredonov and Ershova went out into the open. He growled:

"Come this way."

She shouted with all her might, though gaily. They were apparently getting ready to dance. Prepolovenskaya and Varvara passed through the kitchen into another room, where they sat down at the window to see what would happen.

Peredonov and Ershova embraced each other, and began to dance around the pear tree. Peredonov's face remained dull as before and did not express anything. Mechanically, as upon an automaton, his golden-rimmed spectacles sprang up and down his nose, and his hair flopped up and down on his head. Ershova screamed, shouted, waved her arms, and at times reeled.

She shouted to Varvara, whom she espied at the window:

"Hey you, don't be such a lady, come out and dance. Are you disgusted with our company?"

Varvara turned away.

"The deuce take you! I'm dead tired," shouted Ershova, and fell back on the grass, drawing down Peredonov with her.

They sat a while in each other's embrace, then got up and once more began to dance. This they repeated several times: now they danced, now they rested under the pear tree, upon the bench, or simply on the grass.

Volodin enjoyed himself thoroughly, as he watched the dancers from the window. He roared with laughter, made extraordinarily funny faces, and bent his body in two. He shouted:

"They're cracked! How funny!"

"Accursed carrion!" said Varvara angrily.

"Yes, carrion," agreed Volodin with a grin. "Just wait, my dear landlady, I'll show you something! Let's go and make a mess in the parlour too. She won't come back again to-day anyhow, she'll tire herself out and go home to sleep."

He burst into his bleating laughter and jumped about like a great ram. Prepolovenskaya encouraged him:

"Yes, go ahead, Pavel Vassilyevitch, and make a mess. We don't care a rap for her! If she does come back we can tell her that she did it herself when she was drunk."

Volodin, skipping and laughing, ran into the parlour and began to smear and rub his boots on the wall-paper.

"Varvara Dmitrievna, get me a piece of rope!" he shouted.

Varvara, waddling like a duck, passed through the parlour into the bedroom and brought back with her a piece of frayed, knotted rope. Volodin made a noose, then stood up on a chair in the middle of the room and hung the noose on the lamp-bracket.

"That's for the landlady," he explained. "So that when you leave she'll have somewhere to hang herself in her rage!"

Both women squealed with laughter.

"Now get me a bit of paper and a pencil," shouted Volodin.

Varvara searched in the bedroom and discovered a pencil and a piece of paper.

Volodin wrote on it: "For the landlady," and pinned the paper on the noose. He made ridiculous grimaces all the time he was doing this. Then he began to jump furiously up and down along the walls, kicking them every now and again with his boots, shaking with laughter at the same time. His squeals and bleating laughter filled the whole house. The white cat, putting back its ears in terror, peered out of the bedroom and seemed undecided where to run.

Peredonov at last managed to disengage himself from Ershova and returned to the house. Ershova really did get tired and went home to bed. Volodin met Peredonov with uproarious laughter:

"We've made a mess of the parlour too! Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!" shouted Peredonov, bursting into a loud, abrupt laugh.

The women also cried "Hurrah," and a general gaiety set in. Peredonov cried:

"Pavloushka! let's dance."

"Yes, let's, Ardalyosha!" replied Volodin, with a stupid grin.

They danced under the noose and kicked up their legs awkwardly. The floor trembled under Peredonov's heavy feet.

"Ardalyon Borisitch's got a dancing fit," said Prepolovenskaya with a smile.

"That's nothing new, he has his little whims," grumbled Varvara, looking admiringly at Peredonov nevertheless.

She sincerely thought that he was handsome and clever. His most stupid actions seemed to her perfectly fitting. To her he was neither ridiculous nor repulsive.

"Let's sing a funeral mass over the landlady," shouted Volodin. "Fetch a pillow here."

"What will they think of next?" said Varvara laughingly.

She threw out from the bedroom a pillow in a dirty calico slip. They put the pillow on the floor to represent the landlady and began to chant over it with wild discordant voices. Then they called in Natalya, and made her turn the ariston[1]; all four of them began to dance a quadrille with strange antics, kicking up their legs.

After the dance Peredonov felt generous. A dim, morose sort of animation lit up his plump face; he was inspired by a sudden, almost automatic decision, a consequence, perhaps, of his sudden muscular action. He pulled out his wallet, counted several notes, and with a proud self-laudatory expression, threw them towards Varvara.

"Here you are, Varvara!" he exclaimed. "Get yourself a wedding dress!"

The notes fluttered across the floor. Varvara eagerly picked them up; she was not in the least offended at the way the gift was made. Prepolovenskaya thought: "Well, we shall see who's going to have him." And she smiled maliciously. Volodin, of course, did not think of helping Varvara to pick up the money.

Soon Prepolovenskaya left. In the passage she met another visitor, Grushina.

Marya Ossipovna Grushina was a young widow, with a prematurely faded appearance. She was thin—her dry skin was covered with small wrinkles which looked filled with dust. Her face was not unpleasant, but her teeth were black and unbrushed. She had long hands, long grasping fingers and dirty finger-nails. At the first glance she not only looked dirty but gave the impression that she and her clothes had been beaten together. It really looked as if a column of dust would rise up into the sky if she were struck several times with a carpet beater. Her clothes hung upon her in crumpled folds; she might have been just released from a tightly-bound bundle. Grushina lived on a pension, on petty commissions, and by lending money on mortgages. Her conversation was mostly on immodest lines, and she attached herself to men in the hope of getting a second husband. One of her rooms was always let to some one among the bachelor officials.

Varvara was pleased to see Grushina. She had something to tell her. They began to talk immediately about the servant-maid in whispers. The inquisitive Volodin edged closer to them and listened. Peredonov sat morosely by himself in front of the table crumpling the corner of the tablecloth in his fingers.

Varvara was complaining to Grushina about Natalya. Grushina suggested a new servant, Klavdia, and praised her. They decided to go after her at once, to Samorodina where she was living in the house of an excise officer, who had just been transferred to another town. Varvara paused when she heard the maid's name; and asked in a doubtful voice:

"Klavdia? What on earth shall I call her,—Klashka?"

"Why don't you call her Klavdiushka?" suggested Grushina. This pleased Varvara.

"Klavdiushka, diushka!" she said with a crackling laugh. It should be observed that in our town a pig is called a "diushka." Volodin grunted; everyone laughed.

"Diushka, diushenka," lisped Volodin between the laughter, screwing up his stupid face and protruding his underlip. And he kept on grunting and making a fool of himself until he was told that he was a nuisance. Then he left his chair, with an expression of injury on his face, and sat down beside Peredonov. He lowered his large forehead like a ram and fixed his eyes on a spot on the soiled tablecloth.

On the way to Samorodina Varvara decided that she would buy the material for her wedding dress. She always went shopping with Grushina who helped her to make selections and to bargain.

Unseen by Peredonov, Varvara had stealthily stuffed Grushina's deep pockets with sweets and tarts and other gifts for her children. Grushina surmised that Varvara was in great need of her services.

Varvara's narrow, high-heeled shoes would not allow her to walk much. She quickly became fatigued. It was for this reason that she usually took a cab, though the distances in our town are not great. Latterly, she had frequented Grushina's house. The cabbies had noticed this, for there were only about a score of them. When Varvara entered a cab they never asked her where she wanted to go.

They seated themselves in a drozhky and were driven to the house where Klavdia was servant-maid, in order to make inquiries about her. The streets were dirty almost everywhere although it had rained only the day before. The drozhky no sooner rattled on to a solid paved part of the road than it plunged again into the clinging mud of the unpaved sections. But, by way of compensation, Varvara's voice rattled on continuously, now and then accompanied by Grushina's sympathetic chatter.

"My goose has been to Marfushka's again," said Varvara.

Grushina answered in a sympathetic outburst: "That's how they're trying to catch him. And why not, he'd be a great catch, especially for Marfushka. She never dreamt of anyone like him."

"Really, I don't know what to do," confessed Varvara. "He's become so obstinate lately—it's simply awful. Believe me, my head's in a constant whirl. He'll really marry and then there's nothing for me but the streets."

"Don't worry, darling Varvara," said Grushina consolingly. "Don't think about it. He'll never marry anyone but you. He's used to you."

"He sometimes goes off in the evening, and I can't get to sleep afterwards," said Varvara. "Who knows? Perhaps he's courting some girl. Sometimes I toss about all night. Everyone has her eye on him—even those three Routilov mares of women—but of course they'd hang around any man's neck. And that fat Zhenka's after him too."

Varvara went on complaining for a long time, and all her conversation led Grushina to think that Varvara had some favour to ask of her, and she was gratified at the prospect of a reward.

Klavdia pleased Varvara. The excise officer's wife strongly recommended her. They engaged her and told her to come that evening, as the excise officer was leaving at once.

At last they came to Grushina's house. Grushina lived in her own house in a slovenly enough fashion. The three children were bedraggled, dirty, stupid and malicious, like dogs that have just come out of water.

Their confidences were just beginning.

"My fool, Ardalyosha," began Varvara, "wants me to write to the Princess again. It's a waste of time to write to her. She'll either not answer or she'll answer unsatisfactorily. We're not on very intimate terms."

The Princess Volchanskaya, with whom Varvara had lived in the past as a seamstress for simple domestic things, could have helped Peredonov, since her daughter was married to the Privy-Councillor Stchepkin, who held an important position in the department of Education. She had already written in answer to Varvara's petitions in the past year that she could not ask anything for Varvara's fiancé, but she might for her husband, if the opportunity offered. This letter did not satisfy Peredonov, since it expressed merely a vague hope, and did not definitely state that the Princess would actually find Varvara's husband an inspector's position. In order to clear up this doubt they had lately gone to St. Petersburg; Varvara went to the Princess and later she took Peredonov with her, but purposely delayed the visit so that they did not find the Princess at home: Varvara realised that at best the Princess would merely have advised them to get married soon, making a few vague promises which would not have satisfied Peredonov. And Varvara decided not to let Peredonov meet the Princess.

"I've no one to depend upon but you," said Varvara. "Help me, darling Marya Ossipovna!"

"How can I help, my dearest Varvara Dmitrievna?" asked Grushina. "Of course you know I'm ready to do anything I can for you. Shall I read your fortune for you?"

Varvara laughed and said: "I know how clever you are, but you must help me another way."

"How?" asked Grushina, with a tremulous, expectant pleasure.

"That's very simple," replied Varvara. "You write a letter in the Princess's handwriting and I'll show it to Ardalyon Borisitch."

"But, my dear, how can I do it?" said Grushina, pretending to be alarmed. "What would become of me if I should be found out?"

Varvara was not in the least disconcerted by her answer, but pulled a crumpled letter out of her pocket, saying:

"I've brought one of the Princess's letters for you to copy."

Grushina refused for a long time. Varvara saw clearly that Grushina would consent, but that she was bargaining for a bigger reward, while Varvara wanted to give less. She gradually increased her promises of various small gifts, among them an old silk dress, until Grushina saw that Varvara could not be persuaded to give any more. A stream of entreaties poured from Varvara's mouth, and Grushina finally took the letter, making it appear from the expression of her face that she did so out of pity.

[1] A musical instrument.

[CHAPTER IV]

The billiard-room was full of tobacco-smoke. Peredonov, Routilov, Falastov, Volodin and Mourin were there. The last of these was a robust landed proprietor of stupid appearance; he was the owner of a small estate and a good business man. The five of them, having finished a game, were preparing to go.

It was dusk. The number of empty beer bottles on the soiled wooden table was increasing. The players had drunk a good deal during the game; their faces were flushed, and they were getting noisy. Routilov alone kept his usual consumptive pallor. He really drank less than the others and his pallor was only increased by heavy drinking.

Coarse words flew about the room. But no one was offended; it was all said among friends.

Peredonov had lost, as nearly always happened. He played billiards badly. But his face kept its expression of unperturbed moroseness and he paid his due grudgingly.

Mourin shouted out:

"Bang!"

And he aimed his billiard-cue at Peredonov. Peredonov exclaimed in fright and collapsed into a chair. The stupid idea that Mourin wanted to shoot him glimmered in his dull mind. Everyone laughed. Peredonov grumbled in irritation:

"I can't stand jokes like that."

Mourin was already regretting that he had frightened Peredonov. His son was attending the gymnasia and he considered it his duty to be affable to the gymnasia instructors. He began to apologise to Peredonov and treated him to hock and seltzer. Peredonov said morosely:

"My nerves are rather unstrung. I'm having trouble with the Head-Master."

"The future inspector has lost," exclaimed Volodin in his bleating voice. "He's sorry for his money."

"Unlucky in games, lucky in love," said Routilov, smiling slightly and showing his decaying teeth.

This was the last straw. Peredonov had already lost money and had a fright and now they were taunting him about Varvara.

He exclaimed:

"I'll get married and then Varka can clear out!"

His friends roared with laughter and continued provoking him:

"You won't dare!"

"Yes I will dare: I'll get married to-morrow!"

"Here's a bet!" said Falastov. "I'll bet ten roubles he doesn't do it!"

But Peredonov thought of the money; if he lost he would have to pay. He turned away and lapsed into gloomy silence.

At the garden gates they parted and scattered in different directions. Peredonov and Routilov went together. Routilov began to persuade Peredonov to marry one of his sisters at once.

"Don't be afraid. I've prepared everything," he assured Peredonov.

"But the banns haven't been published," objected Peredonov.

"I tell you I've prepared everything," argued Routilov. "I've found the right priest, who knows that you're not related to us."

"There are no bride-men," said Peredonov.

"That's quite true, but I can get them. All I have to do is to send for them and they'll come to the church immediately. Or I'll go after them myself. It wasn't possible earlier, your cousin might have found out and hindered us."

Peredonov did not reply. He looked gloomily about him, where, behind their drowsy little gardens and wavering hedges, loomed the dark shapes of a few scattered houses.

"You just wait at the gate," said Routilov persuasively, "I'll bring out the loveliest one—whichever one you like. Listen, I'll prove it to you. Twice two is four, isn't it?"

"Yes," assented Peredonov.

"Well, as twice two is four, so it's your duty to marry one of my sisters."

Peredonov was impressed. "It's quite true," he thought, "of course, twice two is four." And he looked respectfully at the shrewd Routilov. "Well, it'll come to marrying one of them. You can't argue with him."

The friends at that moment reached the Routilovs' house and stopped at the gate.

"Well, you can't do it by force," said Peredonov angrily.

"You're a queer fellow," exclaimed Routilov. "They've waited until they're tired."

"And perhaps I don't want to!" said Peredonov.

"What do you mean by that? You are a queer chap. Are you going to be a shiftless fellow all your life?" asked Routilov. "Or are you getting ready to enter a monastery? Or aren't you tired of Varya yet? Think what a face she'll make when you bring your young wife home."

Peredonov gave a cackle, but immediately frowned and said:

"And perhaps they also don't want to?"

"What do you mean—they don't want to? You are an odd fellow," answered Routilov, "I give you my word."

"They'll be too proud," objected Peredonov.

"Why should that bother you? It's all the better."

"They're gigglers."

"But they never giggle at your expense," said Routilov comfortingly.

"How do I know?"

"You'd better believe me. I'm not fooling you. They respect you. After all you're not a kind of Pavloushka, who'd make anybody laugh."

"Yes, if I take your word for it," said Peredonov incredulously. "But no, I want to be convinced myself."

"Well, you are an odd fellow!" said Routilov in astonishment. "But how would they dare laugh at you? Still, is there any way I can prove it to you?"

Peredonov reflected and said:

"Let them come into the street at once."

"Very well, that's possible," agreed Routilov.

"All three of them," continued Peredonov.

"Very well."

"And let each one say how she'll please me."

"Why all this?" asked Routilov in astonishment.

"I'll find out what they want, and then you won't lead me by the nose."

"No one's going to lead you by the nose."

"Perhaps they'll want to laugh at me," argued Peredonov. "Now if they come out and want to laugh, it is I who'll be able to laugh at them!"

Routilov reflected, pushed his hat on to the back of his head and then forward over his forehead, and said at last:

"All right, you wait here and I'll go in and tell them—but you're certainly an odd fellow. You'd better come into the front garden or else the devil'll bring someone along the street and you'll be seen."

"I'll spit on them," said Peredonov. Nevertheless, he entered the gate.

Routilov went into the house to his sisters while Peredonov waited in the garden.

All the four sisters were sitting in the drawing-room, which was situated in the corner of the house that could be seen from the garden. They all had the same features and they all resembled their brother; they were handsome, rosy and cheerful. They were Larissa, a tranquil, pleasant, plump woman, who was married; the quick, agile Darya, the tallest and the slenderest of the sisters; the mischievous Liudmilla, and Valeria who was small, delicate and fragile-looking.

They were eating nuts and raisins. They were obviously waiting for something and were therefore rather agitated and laughed more than usual as they recalled the latest town gossip. They ridiculed both their own acquaintances and strangers.

Ever since the early morning they had been quite prepared to be married. It was only necessary for one of them to put on a suitable dress with a veil and flowers. Varvara was not mentioned in the sisters' conversation, as though she did not exist. But it was sufficient that they, the pitiless gossips, who pulled everyone to pieces, should refrain from mentioning Varvara; this complete silence showed that the idea of Varvara was fixed like a nail in the mind of each.

"I've brought him," announced Routilov entering the drawing-room. "He's at the gate." The sisters rose in an agitated way and all began to talk and laugh at the same time.

"There's only one difficulty," said Routilov laughingly.

"And what's that?" asked Darya.

Valeria frowned her handsome, dark eyebrows in a vexed way.

"I don't know whether to tell you or not," hesitated Routilov.

"Be quick about it," urged Darya.

Routilov in some confusion told them what Peredonov wanted. The girls raised an outcry and they all began to abuse Peredonov; but little by little their indignation gave place to jokes and laughter. Darya made a face of grim expectation and said:

"But he's waiting at the gate!"

It was becoming an amusing adventure.

The girls began to peep out the window towards the gate. Darya opened the window and cried out:

"Ardalyon Borisitch, can we say it out of the window?"

The morose answer came back:

"No!"

Darya quickly slammed down the window. The sisters burst into gay, unrestrained laughter, and ran from the drawing-room into the dining-room so that Peredonov might not hear them. The members of this family were so constituted that they could easily pass from a state of the most intense anger into a state of merriment, and it was the cheerful word that usually decided a matter.

Peredonov stood and waited. He felt depressed and afraid. He thought he would run away, but could not decide. Somewhere from afar the sounds of music reached him: the frail, tender sounds poured themselves out in the quiet, dark, night air, and they awoke sadness, and gave birth to pleasant reveries.

At the beginning, Peredonov's reveries took on an erotic turn. He imagined the Routilov girls in the most seductive poses. But the longer he waited, the more irritated he became at being forced to wait. And the music, which had barely aroused his hopelessly coarse emotions, died for him.

All around him the night descended quietly, and rustled with its ill-boding hoverings and whisperings. And it seemed even darker everywhere because Peredonov stood in an open space lit up by the drawing-room lamp; its two streaks of light broadened as they reached the neighbouring fence, the dark planks of which became visible. The trees in the depth of the garden assumed dark, suspicious, whispering shapes. Someone's slow, heavy footsteps sounded near-by on the street pavement. Peredonov began to feel apprehensive that while waiting here he might be attacked, and robbed, even murdered. He pressed against the very wall in the shadow, and timidly waited.

But suddenly long shadows shot out across the streaks of light in the garden, a door slammed, and voices were heard on the verandah. Peredonov grew animated. "They are coming," he thought joyously, and agreeable thoughts about the three beauties stole softly once more into his mind—disgusting children of his dull imagination.

The sisters stood in the passage. Routilov walked to the gate and looked to see if anyone was in the street. No one was to be seen or heard.

"There's no one about," he whispered loudly to his sisters, using his hands as a speaking-trumpet.

He remained in the street to keep watch. Peredonov joined him.

"They're coming out to speak to you," said Routilov.

Peredonov stood at the gate and looked through the chink between the gate and the gate-post.

His face was morose and almost frightened, and all sorts of fancies and thoughts expired in his mind and were replaced by a heavy, aimless desire.

Darya was the first to come up to the open gate.

"What can I do to please you?" she asked.

Peredonov was morosely silent.

Darya said:

"I will make you the crispest pancakes piping hot—only don't choke over them."

Liudmilla cried over her shoulder:

"I'll go down every morning and collect all the gossip to tell you. That will make us jolly."

Between the two girls' cheerful faces showed for a moment Valeria's slender, capricious face, and her slight, frail voice was heard:

"I wouldn't tell you for anything how I shall please you—you'd better guess yourself."

The sisters ran away laughing. Their voices and laughter ceased directly they were in the house. Peredonov turned away from the gate; he was not quite satisfied. He thought: "They babbled something and then ran away." It would have been far better if they'd put it on paper. But he had already stood here waiting long enough.

"Well, are you satisfied?" asked Routilov. "Which one do you like best?"

Peredonov was lost in thought. Of course, he concluded at last, he ought to take the youngest. A young woman is always better than an older one.

"Bring Valeria here," he said decisively.

Routilov went into the house and Peredonov again entered the garden.

Liudmilla looked stealthily out of the window, trying to make out what they were saying, without any success. But suddenly there were sounds of someone approaching by the garden path. The sisters kept silent and sat there nervously. Routilov entered and announced:

"He's chosen Valeria, and he's waiting at the gate!"

The sisters grew noisy at once and began to laugh.

Valeria went slightly pale.

"Well, well," she said ironically, "I needed him very badly."

Her hands trembled. All three of the sisters began to fuss about her and to put finery on her. She always spent a lot of time over her toilette—the other sisters hurried her. Routilov kept continually babbling with pleasure and excitement. He was delighted that he had managed the matter so cleverly.

"Did you get the cabbies?" asked Darya with a worried air. Routilov answered with slight annoyance:

"How could I? The whole town would have heard of it. Varvara would have come and dragged him away by his hair."

"Well, what shall we do?"

"Why, we can go to the Square in pairs and hire them there. It's quite simple. You and the bride go first. Then Larissa with the bridegroom—now, mind you, not all together or we shall be noticed in town. Liudmilla and I will stop at Falastov's. The two of them will go together and I will get Volodin."

Once alone Peredonov became immersed in pleasant reveries. He imagined Valeria in all the bewitchment of the bridal night—undressed, bashful but happy. All slenderness and subtlety.

He dreamed, and at the same time he pulled out of his pocket some caramels that had stuck there and began to chew them.

Then he remembered that Valeria was a coquette. Now she'll want expensive dresses, he thought. That meant that he would not only be unable to save money every month but that he would have to spend what he had saved. She would be hard to please. She would never even enter the kitchen. Besides, his food might get poisoned; Varvara, from spite, would bribe the cook. And on the whole, thought Peredonov, Valeria is a slender doll. It's difficult to know how to treat a girl like that. How could one abuse her? And how could one give her an occasional push? How could one spit on her? It would end in tears and she would shame him before the whole town. No, it was impossible to tie oneself to her. Now Liudmilla was simpler; wouldn't it be better to take her?

Peredonov walked up to the window and knocked with his stick on the pane. After a few moments Routilov stuck his head out of the window.

"What do you want?" he asked anxiously.

"I've thought it over," growled Peredonov.

"Well?" exclaimed Routilov in apprehension.

"Bring Liudmilla here!" said Peredonov.

Routilov left the window.

"He's a devil in spectacles," he grumbled to himself and went to his sisters.

Valeria was glad.

"It's your happiness, Liudmilla," she said cheerfully.

Liudmilla began to laugh. She threw herself back in a chair and laughed and laughed.

"What shall I tell him?" asked Routilov. "Are you willing?"

Liudmilla could not speak for laughing, and only waved her hands.

"Of course she's willing," said Darya for her. "You'd better tell him at once, or else he may go off in a huff."

Routilov entered the drawing-room and said in a whisper through the window:

"Wait, she'll be ready at once."

"Let her make haste," said Peredonov angrily. "Why are they so long?"

Liudmilla was soon dressed. She was entirely ready in five minutes.

Peredonov began to think about her. She was cheerful and plump. But she was a giggler. She would always be laughing at him. That was terrible. Darya, though she was lively, was more sober. But she was quite handsome. He had better take her.

He knocked once more on the window.

"There! he's knocking again," said Larissa. "I wonder if he wants you now, Darya?"

"The devil!" said Routilov irritatedly, and ran to the window.

"What now?" he asked in an angry whisper. "Have you thought it over again?"

"Bring Darya," answered Peredonov.

"Well, just wait!" whispered Routilov in a rage.

Peredonov stood there and thought of Darya, and again his brief seductive vision of her was replaced by apprehension. She was too quick and impertinent. She would make life intolerable to him. "And what on earth's the good of standing here waiting," reflected Peredonov, "I might get a cold. And you can't tell, there may be someone hiding in the ditch or behind the grass, who'll suddenly jump out and murder me." Peredonov grew very depressed. Then again none of them had any dowry to speak of. That could command no patronage in the department of Education. Varvara would complain to the Princess. As it was the Head-Master was sharpening his teeth for Peredonov.

Peredonov began to get vexed with himself. Why was he here, entangling himself with the Routilovs? It must be that Routilov had bewitched him. Yes, he must really have bewitched him! He must make a counter-charm at once.

Peredonov twirled round on his heels, spat on each side of him and mumbled:

"Chure-churashki. Churki-balvashki, buki-bukashkii, vedi-tarakashki. Chure menya. Chure menya. Chure, chure, chure. Chure-perechure-raschiure."[1]

His face wore an expression of stern attention, as if at the carrying out of a dignified ceremony. After this indispensable action he felt himself out of danger of Routilov's spells. He struck the window decisively with his stick and muttered angrily:

"I've had enough of this! I won't be enticed any further. No, I don't want to get married to-day," he announced to Routilov, whose head was thrust out of the window.

"What on earth's the matter with you, Ardalyon Borisitch? Why, everything's ready!" said Routilov persuasively.

"I don't want to," repeated Peredonov with decision. "You'd better come along with me and have a game of cards."

"The devil take you," exclaimed Routilov.

"He doesn't want to get married. He's funked it!" he announced to his sisters. "But I'll persuade the fool yet. He's asked me to play cards with him."

All the sisters cried out at once, abusing Peredonov loudly.

"And you're going out with this blackguard?" asked Valeria angrily.

"Yes, and I'll get even with him. He has not escaped us yet by any means," said Routilov, trying to keep a tone of assurance, but feeling very awkward.

The girls' anger with Peredonov soon gave place to laughter. Routilov left. The girls ran to the windows.

"Ardalyon Borisitch," exclaimed Darya. "Why can't you make up your mind. You shouldn't do things like this!"

"Kislyai Kislyaevitch! (Sour Sourson!)" exclaimed Liudmilla, laughingly.

Peredonov was angry. In his opinion the sisters ought to have wept with disappointment that he had rejected them. "They're pretending," he thought, as he left the garden silently. The girls ran to the windows facing the street and shouted gibes after him until he was lost in the darkness.

[1] This is an exaggeration of a Russian charm used against witchcraft. The word "chure" implies, "Hence! away!" and is addressed to the evil spirits. The whole charm is a jargon practically untranslatable.

[CHAPTER V]

Peredonov felt depressed. He had no more caramels in his pocket and this added to his depression and distress. Routilov was the only one to speak almost the whole way. He continued to laud his sisters. Only once did Peredonov break into speech, when he asked angrily:

"Has a bull horns?"

"Well, yes, but what of it?" asked the astonished Routilov.

"Well, I don't want to be a bull," explained Peredonov.

"Ardalyon Borisitch," said Routilov in tones of annoyance, "you will never be a bull, for you are a real swine."

"Liar," said Peredonov morosely.

"I'm not a liar—I can prove I'm not," said Routilov spitefully.

"Go ahead and prove it."

"Just wait, I'll prove it," said Routilov. They walked on silently. Peredonov waited apprehensively and his anger with Routilov tormented him. Suddenly Routilov asked:

"Ardalyon Borisitch, have you got a piatachek?"[1]

"I have, but I won't give it to you," answered Peredonov. Routilov burst out laughing.

"If you have a piatachek, then you are a swine," he exclaimed.

Peredonov in his apprehension grabbed his nose and exclaimed:

"You're lying! I haven't a piatachek—I've got a man's face," he growled.

Routilov was still laughing. Peredonov, angry and rather frightened, looked cautiously at Routilov and said:

"You've led me purposely to-day by the durman[2] and you've durmanised me so as to lure me for one of your sisters. As if one witch wasn't enough for me—you tried to make me marry three at once."

"You are a queer fellow. And why didn't I get durmanised?" asked Routilov.

"You've got some way or other," said Peredonov, "perhaps you breathed through your mouth instead of your nose, or you may have recited a charm. For my part, I don't know at all how to act against witchcraft. I don't know much about black magic. Until I recited the counter-charm I was quite durmanised."

Routilov laughed. "Well, and how did you make the exorcism?" he asked.

But Peredonov did not reply.

"Why do you tie yourself up with Varvara?" asked Routilov. "Do you think that you'll be happier if she gets the inspectorship for you? She'll rule the roost then!"

This was incomprehensible to Peredonov.

After all, he thought, she was really acting in her own interests. She herself would have an easier time if he became an important official, and she would have more money. That meant that she would be grateful to him and not he to her. And in any case she was more congenial to him than anyone else.

Peredonov was accustomed to Varvara. Something drew him to her—perhaps it was his habit, which was very pleasant to him, of bullying her. He would not find another like her however much he sought.

It was already late. The lamps were lit at Peredonov's house; the lighted windows were conspicuous in the dark street. The tea-table was surrounded with visitors: Grushina—who now visited Varvara every day—Volodin, Prepolovenskaya, and her husband Konstantin Petrovitch, a tall man, under forty, with a dull, pale face and black hair, a person of an amazing taciturnity. Varvara was in a white party dress. They were drinking tea, and talking. Varvara, as usual, was distressed because Peredonov had not yet returned home. Volodin, with his cheerful bleat, was telling her that Peredonov had gone off somewhere with Routilov. This only increased her distress.

At last Peredonov appeared with Routilov. They were met with outcries, laughter, stupid coarse jokes.

"Varvara, where's the vodka?" exclaimed Peredonov gruffly.

Varvara quickly left the table, smiling guiltily, and brought the vodka in a decanter of rudely cut glass.

"Let's have a drink," was Peredonov's surly invitation.

"Just wait," said Varvara; "Klavdiushka will bring the zakouska.[3] You great lump," she shouted into the kitchen, "hurry up!"

But Peredonov was already pouring the liquor into the vodka glasses. He growled:

"Why should we wait? Time doesn't wait!"

They drank their vodka and helped it down with tarts filled with black currant jam. Peredonov had always two stock entertainments for visitors—cards and vodka. But as they could not sit down to cards before the tea was served, only vodka remained. In the meantime the zakouska also were brought in so that they could drink some more vodka. Klavdia did not shut the door when she went out, which put Peredonov into a bad humour.

"That door is never shut!" he growled.

He was afraid of the draught—he might catch cold. This was why his house was always stuffy and malodorous.

Prepolovenskaya picked up an egg.

"Fine eggs!" she said. "Where do you get them?"

Peredonov replied:

"They're not bad, but on my father's estate there was a hen that laid two large eggs every day all the year round."

"That's nothing to boast of," said Prepolovenskaya; "now in our village there was a hen that laid two eggs every day and a spoonful of butter."

"Yes, yes, we had one like that too," said Peredonov, not noticing that he was being made fun of. "If others could do it, ours did it too. We had an exceptional hen."

Varvara laughed.

"They're having a little joke," she said.

"Such nonsense makes one's ears wither!" said Grushina.

Peredonov looked at her savagely and replied:

"If your ears wither they'll have to be pulled off!"

Grushina was disconcerted.

"Well, Ardalyon Borisitch, you're always saying something nasty," she complained.

The others laughed appreciatively. Volodin opened his eyes wide, twitched his forehead and explained:

"When your ears start withering it's best to pull them off, because if you don't they'll dangle and swing to and fro."

Volodin made a gesture with his fingers to indicate how the withered ears would dangle. Grushina snapped at him:

"That's the sort you are. You can't make a joke yourself. You have to use other people's."

Volodin was offended and said with dignity:

"I can make a joke myself, Maria Ossipovna, but when we're having a pleasant time in company, why shouldn't I keep up someone else's joke? And if you don't like it, you can do what you please. Give and take."

"That's reasonable, Pavel Vassilyevitch," said Routilov encouragingly.

"Pavel Vassilyevitch can stand up for himself," said Prepolovenskaya with a sly smile. Varvara had just cut off a piece of bread and, absorbed by Volodin's ingenious remarks, held the knife in the air. The edge glittered. Peredonov felt a sudden fear—she might suddenly take it into her head to slash him.

"Varvara!" he exclaimed. "Put that knife down!"

Varvara shivered.

"Why do you shout so? You frightened me," she said, and put the knife down. "He has his whims, you know," she went on, speaking to the silent Prepolovensky, who was stroking his beard and apparently about to speak.

"That sometimes happens," said Prepolovensky; "I had an acquaintance who was afraid of needles. He was always imagining that someone was going to stick a needle into him and that the needle would enter his inside. Just imagine how frightened he would get when he saw a needle——"

And once he had begun to speak he was quite unable to stop, and went on telling the same story with different variations until someone interrupted him and changed the subject. Then he lapsed again into silence.

Grushina changed the conversation to erotic themes. She began to relate how her deceased husband was jealous of her, and how she deceived him. Afterwards she told a story she had heard from an acquaintance in the capital about the mistress of a certain eminent personage who met her patron while driving in the street.

"And she cries to him: 'Hullo, Zhanchick!'" Grushina related, "mind you, in the street."

"I have a good mind to report you," said Peredonov angrily. "Is it actually permitted for such nonsense to be talked about important people?"

Grushina gabbled rapidly to try and appease him:

"It's not my fault. That's how I heard the story. What I've bought I sell."

Peredonov maintained an angry silence and drank tea from a saucer, with his elbows resting on the table. He reflected that in the house of the future inspector it was unbecoming to speak disrespectfully of the higher powers. He felt annoyed with Grushina. This feeling was intensified by his suspicion of Volodin, who too frequently referred to him as "the future inspector." Once he even said to Volodin:

"Well, my friend, I see that you are jealous, but the fact is I'm going to be an inspector and you aren't!"

Volodin, with an insinuating look on his face, had replied:

"Each to his own. You're a specialist in your business and I in mine."

"Our Natashka," said Varvara, "went straight from us and got a place with the Officer of the gendarmes."

Peredonov trembled, and his face had an expression of fear.

"Are you telling a lie?" he demanded.

"Why should I want to tell you a lie about that?" answered Varvara. "You can go and ask him yourself, if you like."

This unpleasant news was confirmed by Grushina. Peredonov was stupefied with astonishment. It was impossible to know what she might say, and then the gendarmes would take up the matter and report it to the authorities. It was a bad look-out.

At the same second Peredonov's eyes rested on the shelf under the sideboard. There stood several bound volumes: the thin ones were the works of Pisarev and the larger ones were the "Annals of the Fatherland."[4] Peredonov went pale and said:

"I must hide those books or I shall be reported."

Earlier Peredonov had displayed these books ostentatiously to show that he was a man of emancipated ideas, though actually he had no ideas at all and no inclination towards reflection. And he only kept these books for show, not to read. It was now a long time since he had read a book—he used to say he had no time—he did not subscribe to a newspaper. He got his news from other people. In fact there was nothing he wanted to know—there was nothing in the outside world he was interested in. He used even to deride subscribers to newspapers as people who wasted both time and money. One might have thought that his time was very valuable!

He went up to the shelf, grumbling.

"That's what happens in this town—you may get reported any minute. Lend a hand here, Pavel Vassilyevitch," he said to Volodin.

Volodin walked towards him with a grave and comprehending countenance and carefully took the books that Peredonov handed to him. Peredonov, carrying a heap of books, went into the parlour, followed by Volodin, who carried a large pile.

"Where do you mean to hide them, Ardalyon Borisitch "he asked.

"Wait and you'll see," replied Peredonov with his usual gruffness.

"What are you taking away there, Ardalyon Borisitch?" asked Prepolovensky.

"Most strictly forbidden books," answered Peredonov from the door. "I should be reported if they were found here."

Peredonov sat on his heels before the brick stove in the parlour. He threw down the books on the iron hearth and Volodin did the same. Peredonov began with difficulty to force book after book into the small opening. Volodin sat on his heels just behind Peredonov and handed him the books, preserving at the same time an air of profound comprehension on his sheepish face, his protruded lips and heavy forehead expressing his sense of importance. Varvara looked at them through the door. She said laughing:

"They've got a new joke!"

But Grushina interrupted her:

"No, dearest Varvara Dmitrievna, you shouldn't say that. Things might be very unpleasant if they found out. Especially if it happens to be an instructor. The authorities are dreadfully afraid that the instructors will teach the boys to rebel."

After tea they sat down to play Stoukolka [a card game], all seven of them around the card-table in the parlour. Peredonov played irritatedly and badly. After every twenty points, he had to pay out to the other players, especially to Prepolovensky, who received for himself and his wife. The Prepolovenskys won more frequently than anyone. They had certain signs, like knocks and coughs, by which they told each other what cards they held. That night Peredonov had no luck. He made haste to win back his money, but Volodin was slow in dealing and spent too much time in shuffling.

"Pavloushka, hurry up and deal," shouted Peredonov impatiently.

Volodin, feeling himself the equal of anybody in the game, looked important and asked:

"What do you mean by 'Pavloushka'? Is it in friendship? Or how?"

"Of course, in friendship," replied Peredonov carelessly. "Only deal quicker."

"Well, if you say it in friendship then I'm glad, very glad," said Volodin, laughing happily and stupidly as he dealt the cards. "You're a good fellow, Ardasha, and I'm very fond of you. But if it weren't in friendship it would be another matter, but as it is in friendship I'm glad. I've given you an ace for it," said Volodin and turned up trumps.

Peredonov actually had an ace, but it wasn't the ace of trumps and he had to sacrifice it.

Routilov babbled on incessantly; told all sorts of tales and anecdotes, some of an exceedingly indelicate character. In order to annoy Peredonov, Routilov began to tell him that his older pupils were behaving very badly, especially those who lived in apartments: they smoked, drank vodka and ran after girls. Peredonov believed him, and Grushina confirmed what Routilov said. These stories gave her especial pleasure: she herself, after her husband's death, had wanted to board three or four of the students at her house, but the Head-Master would not give her the requisite permission, in spite of Peredonov's recommendations—Grushina's reputation in the town was not very good. She now began to abuse the landladies of the houses where the students had apartments.

"They're bribing the Head-Master," she declared.

"All the landladies are carrion!" said Volodin with conviction; "take mine, for instance. When I took my room, mine agreed to give me three glasses of milk every evening. For the first two months I got it."

"And you didn't get drunk?" asked Routilov.

"Why should I get drunk?" said Volodin in offended tones, "milk's a useful product. It's my habit to drink three glasses of milk every night. When all of a sudden I see that they bring me only two glasses. 'What's the meaning of this?' I ask; the servant says: 'Anna Mikhailovna says she begs your pardon because the cow, she says, doesn't give much milk now.' What's that to do with me? An agreement is more sacred than money. Suppose their cow gave no milk at all—does that mean I'm not to have any milk? 'No,' I say. 'If there is no milk, then tell Anna Mikhailovna to give me a glass of water. I'm used to three glasses and I must have them.'"

"Our Pavloushka's a hero," said Peredonov. "Tell them how you argued with the General, old chap."

Volodin eagerly repeated his story. But this time they laughed at his expense. He stuck out an offended underlip.

After supper they all got drunk, even the women. Volodin proposed that they should dirty the walls some more. They were delighted: almost before they had finished supper they acted on this suggestion and amused themselves prodigiously. They spat on the wall-paper, poured beer on it, and they threw at the walls and ceiling paper arrows whose ends were smeared with butter, and they flipped pieces of moist bread at the ceiling. Afterwards they invented a new game which they played for money; they tore off strips of the wall-paper to see who could get the largest. But at this game the Prepolovenskys won another rouble and a half.

Volodin lost. Because of his loss and his intoxication he became depressed and began to complain about his mother. He made a dolorous face, and gesticulating ridiculously with his hand, said:

"Why did she bear me? And what did she think at the time? What's my life now? She's not been a mother to me, she only bore me. Because whereas a real mother worries about her child, mine only bore me and sent me to a charitable home when I was a mere baby."

"Well, you've learnt something by it—it made a man of you," said Prepolovenskaya.

Volodin bent his head, wagged it to and fro and said:

"No, what's my life? A dog's life. Why did she bear me? What did she think then?"

Peredonov suddenly remembered yesterday's erli. "There," he thought, "he complains about his mother, because she bore him. He doesn't want to be Pavloushka. It's certain that he envies me. It may be that he's thinking of marrying Varvara and of getting into my skin." And he looked anxiously at Volodin.

He must try to marry him to someone.

At night in the bedroom Varvara said to Peredonov:

"You think that all these girls who are running after you are really good-looking? They're all trash, and I'm prettier than any of them."

She quickly undressed herself and, smiling insolently, showed Peredonov her rosy, graceful, flexible and beautiful body.

Though Varvara staggered from drunkenness and her face would have repelled any decent man with its flabby-lascivious expression, she really had the beautiful body of a nymph, with the head of a faded prostitute attached to it as if by some horrible black magic. And this superb body was for these two drunken and dirty-minded people merely the source of the vilest libidinousness.

And so it often happens in our age that beauty is debased and abused.

Peredonov laughed gruffly but boisterously as he looked at his naked companion.

The entire night he dreamed of women of all colours, naked and hideous.

Varvara believed that the friction with nettles, which she applied at Prepolovenskaya's advice, helped her. It seemed to her that she got plumper almost at once. She asked all her acquaintances:

"It's true, isn't it, that I'm a little fuller?"

And she thought that now Peredonov would surely marry her, seeing that she was plumper, and that he would receive the forged letter.

Peredonov's expectations were far from being so agreeable as hers. He had become convinced some time before that the Head-Master was hostile to him—and as a matter of fact the Head-Master considered Peredonov a lazy, incapable instructor. Peredonov imagined that the Head-Master told the boys not to respect him, which it is obvious was an absurd invention of his own. But it inspired Peredonov with the idea that he must be on his guard against the Head-Master.

From spite against the Head-Master he spoke slightingly of him more than once in the classes of the older students. This pleased many of the students.

Now that Peredonov was hoping to become an inspector the Head-Master's attitude towards him seemed particularly unpleasant. Let it be admitted that if the Princess should so desire, her protection would override the Head-Master's unfriendliness, still it was not without its dangers.

And there were other people in the town—as Peredonov had lately noticed—who were hostile to him and wanted to hinder his appointment to the inspectorship. There was Volodin; it was not for nothing that he continually repeated the words, "The future inspector." There have been occasions when people have assumed another man's name with great profit to themselves. Of course, Volodin would find it difficult to impersonate Peredonov, but after all even such a fool as Volodin might have the idea that he could. It is certain that we ought to fear every evil man. And there were still the Routilovs, Vershina with her Marta, and his envious colleagues—all equally ready to do him harm. And how could they harm him? It was perfectly clear they could vilify him to the authorities and make him out to be an unreliable man.

So that Peredonov had two anxieties: one, to prove his reliableness and the other to secure himself from Volodin—by marrying him to a rich girl.

Peredonov once asked Volodin:

"If you like, I'll get you engaged to the Adamenko girl, or are you still pining for Marta? Isn't a month long enough for you to get consoled?"

"Why should I pine for Marta?" replied Volodin, "I've done her a great honour by proposing to her, and if she doesn't want me, what's that to me? I'll easily find someone else—there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it."

"Well, but Marta's pulled your nose for you nicely," said Peredonov tauntingly.

"I've no notion what sort of a husband they're looking for," said Volodin with an offended air. "They haven't even any dowry to speak of. She's after you, Ardalyon Borisitch."

Peredonov advised him:

"If I were in your place I should smear her gates with tar."

Volodin grinned and calmed down at once. He said:

"But if they catch me it might be unpleasant."

"Hire somebody; why should you do it yourself?" said Peredonov.

"And she deserves it—honest to God!" said Volodin animatedly. "A girl who won't get married and yet lets young fellows in through the window! That means that human beings have no shame or conscience!"

[1] "Piatachek" means a "five kopek piece" and also a "pig's snout." Routilov puns on the word.

[2] Durman, the thorn apple or datura, a very poisonous plant. The Russians have a verb "durmanised," meaning bewitched or stupefied by the durman.

[3] Zakouska, savoury salt eatables, rather like hors d'oeuvres, eaten with vodka.

[4] A journal of revolutionary tendencies, suppressed in 1881.

[CHAPTER VI]

The next day Peredonov and Volodin went to see the Adamenko girl. Volodin was in his best clothes; he put on his new, tight-fitting frock-coat, a clean-laundered shirt and a brightly-coloured cravat. He smeared his hair with pomade and scented himself—he was in fine spirits.

Nadezhda Vassilyevna Adamenko lived with her brother in town in her own red-brick house; she had an estate not far from town which she let on lease. Two years before she had completed a course in the local college and now she occupied herself in lying on a couch to read books of every description and in coaching her brother, an eleven-year-old schoolboy, who always protected himself against his sister's severities by saying:

"It was much better in Mamma's time—she used to put an umbrella in the corner instead of me."

Nadezhda Vassilyevna's aunt lived with her. She was a characterless, decrepit woman with no voice in the household affairs. Nadezhda Vassilyevna chose her acquaintances with great care. Peredonov was very seldom in her house and only his lack of real acquaintance with her could have given birth to his idea of getting her to marry Volodin. She was therefore extremely astonished at their unexpected visit, but she received the uninvited guests quite graciously. She had to amuse them, and it seemed to her that the most likely and pleasant method of entertaining an instructor of the Russian language would be to talk of educational conditions, school reform, the training of children, literature, Symbolism and the Russian literary periodicals. She touched upon all these themes, but received no response beyond enigmatic remarks, which showed that these questions had no interest for her guests.

She soon saw that only one subject was possible—town gossip. But Nadezhda Vassilyevna nevertheless made one more attempt.

"Have you read the 'Man in the Case,' by Chekhov?" she asked. "It's a clever piece of work, isn't it?"

As she turned with this question to Volodin he smiled pleasantly and asked:

"Is that an essay or a novel?"

"It's a short story," exclaimed Nadezhda.

"Did you say it was by Mister Chekhov?" inquired Volodin.

"Yes, Chekhov," said Nadezhda and smiled.

"Where was it published?" asked Volodin curiously.

"In the 'Russkaya Misl,'" the young woman explained graciously.

"In what number?" continued Volodin.

"I can't quite remember. I think it was in one of the summer numbers," replied Nadezhda, still graciously but with some astonishment.

A schoolboy suddenly appeared from behind the door.

"It was published in the May number," he said, with his hand on the door-knob, glancing at his sister and her guests with cheerful blue eyes.

"You're too young to read novels!" growled Peredonov angrily. "You ought to work instead of reading indecent stories."

Nadezhda Vassilyevna looked sternly at her brother.

"It is a nice thing to stand behind doors and listen," she remarked, and lifting her hands crossed her little fingers at a right angle.

The boy made a wry face and disappeared. He went into his own room, stood in the corner and gazed at the clock; two little fingers crossed was a sign that he should stand in the corner for ten minutes. "No," he thought sadly, "it was much better when Mamma was alive. She only put an umbrella in the corner."

Meanwhile in the drawing-room Volodin was promising his hostess that he would certainly get the May number of the "Russkaya Misl," in order to read Mister Chekhov's story. Peredonov listened with an expression of unconcealed boredom on his face. At last he said:

"I haven't read it either. I don't read such nonsense. There's nothing but stupidities in stories and novels." Nadezhda Vassilyevna smiled amiably and said:

"You're very severe towards contemporary literature. But good books are written even nowadays."

"I read all the good books long ago," announced Peredonov. "I don't intend to begin to read what's being written now."

Volodin looked at Peredonov with respect. Nadezhda Vassilyevna sighed lightly and—as there was nothing else for her to do—she began a string of small-talk and gossip to the best of her ability. Although she disliked such conversation she managed to keep it up with the ease and buoyancy of a lively, well-trained girl. The guests became animated. She was intolerably bored, but they thought that she was particularly gracious and they put it down to the charm of Volodin's personality.

Once in the street Peredonov congratulated Volodin upon his success. Volodin laughed gleefully and skipped about. He had already forgotten all the other girls who had rejected him.

"Don't kick up your heels like that," said Peredonov. "You're hopping about like a young sheep! You'd better wait; you may have your nose pulled again."

But he said this only in jest, and he fully believed in the success of the match he had devised.

Grushina came to see Varvara almost every day. Varvara was at Grushina's even oftener, so that they were scarcely ever parted from each other. Varvara was agitated because Grushina delayed—she assured Varvara that it was very difficult to copy the handwriting so that the resemblance would be complete.

Peredonov still refrained from fixing a date for the wedding. Again he demanded his inspector's post first. Recollecting how many girls were ready to marry him, he more than once, as in the past winter, said to Varvara threateningly:

"I'm going out to get married. I shall be back in the morning with a wife and then out you go. This is your last night here!"

And having said this he would go—to play billiards. From there he would sometimes return home, but more often he would go carousing in some dirty hole with Routilov and Volodin. On such nights Varvara could not sleep. That is why she suffered from headaches. It was not so bad if he returned at one or two—then she could breathe freely. But if he did not turn up till the morning then the day found Varvara quite ill.

At last Grushina had finished the letter and showed it to Varvara. They examined it for a long time and compared it with the Princess's letter of last year. Grushina assured her that the letter was so like the other that the Princess herself would not recognise the forgery. Although there was actually little resemblance, Varvara believed her. She also realised that Peredonov would not remember the Princess's unfamiliar handwriting so minutely that he would see it was a forgery.

"At last!" she said joyously. "I have waited and waited, and I'd almost lost patience. But what shall I tell him about the envelope if he asks?"

"You can't very well forge an envelope; there's the post-mark," said Grushina laughing as she looked at Varvara with her cunning unequal eyes, one of them wider open than the other.

"What shall we do?"

"Varvara Dmitrievna darling, just tell him that you threw the envelope into the fire. What's the good of an envelope?"

Varvara's hopes revived. She said:

"Once we're married, he won't keep me any longer on the run. I'll do the sitting and he can do the running for me."

On Saturday after dinner Peredonov went to play billiards. His thoughts were heavy and melancholy. He thought:

"It's awful to live among hostile and envious people. But what can one do—they can't all be inspectors! That's the struggle for existence!"

At the corner of two streets he met the Officer of the gendarmerie—an unpleasant meeting.

Lieutenant-Colonel Nikolai Vadimovitch Roubovsky, a medium-sized, stout man with heavy eyebrows, cheerful grey eyes, and a limping gait which made his spurs jingle unevenly and loudly, was a very amiable person and was therefore popular in society. He knew all the people in town, all their affairs and relations, and loved to hear gossip, but was himself as discreet and silent as the grave, and caused no one any unnecessary unpleasantness.

They stopped, greeted each other and entered into conversation. Peredonov looked frowningly on each side and said cautiously:

"I hear that our Natasha is with you now. You mustn't believe anything she tells you about me, because she's lying."

"I don't listen to servants' gossip," said Roubovsky with dignity.

"She's really a bad one," said Peredonov, paying no attention to Roubovsky's remark; "her young man is a Pole; very likely she came to you on purpose to get hold of some official secret."

"Please don't worry about that," said the Lieutenant-Colonel dryly. "I haven't any plans of fortresses in my possession."

This introduction of fortresses perplexed Peredonov; it seemed to him that Roubovsky was hinting at something—that he thought of imprisoning Peredonov in a fortress.

"It's nothing to do with fortresses—it's a very different matter," he muttered. "But all sorts of stupid things are being said about me, for the most part from envy. Don't believe any of them. They're informing against me in order to get suspicion away from themselves, but I can do some informing myself."

Roubovsky was mystified.

"I assure you," he said, shrugging his shoulders and jingling his spurs, "that no one has informed against you. It is obvious that someone has been pulling your leg—people of course will talk nonsense sometimes."

Peredonov was mistrustful. He thought that the Lieutenant-Colonel was concealing something, and he suddenly felt a terrible apprehension.

Every time that Peredonov walked past Vershina's garden, Vershina would stop him and with her bewitching gestures and words would lure him into the garden. And he would enter, unwillingly yielding to her quiet witchery. Perhaps she had a better chance of succeeding in her purpose than the Routilovs—for was not Peredonov equally unrelated to them all, and therefore why should he not marry Marta? But it was evident that the morass into which Peredonov was sinking was so tenacious that no magic could ever have got him out of it into another.

And now after this meeting with Roubovsky, as Peredonov was walking past Vershina's, she, dressed in black as usual, enticed him in.

"Marta and Vladya are going home for the day," she said, looking tenderly at Peredonov with her cinnamon-coloured eyes through the smoke of her cigarette. "It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to spend the day with them in the village. A workman had just come in a cart for them."

"There isn't enough room," said Peredonov morosely.

"I think you could manage it," said Vershina, "and even if you have to squeeze in a little, it won't be a great hardship—you've only got six versts to go."

Meanwhile Marta ran out of the house to ask Vershina something. The excitement of getting off dissipated her usual languor and her face was livelier and more cheerful. They both tried to persuade Peredonov to go.

"You'll manage quite comfortably," Vershina assured him; "you and Marta can sit at the back, and Vladya and Ignaty in front. Look, there's the cart in the yard now."

Peredonov followed them into the yard where the cart was standing. Vladya was fussing about, putting various things in it. The cart was quite a large one, but Peredonov morosely surveyed it and announced:

"I'm not going. There isn't enough room. There are four of us and those things besides."

"Well, if you think it's going to be a tight squeeze," said Varshina, "Vladya can go on foot."

"Of course," said Vladya, with a suppressed grin. "I'll start at once and I'll get there before you."

Then Peredonov declared that the cart would jolt and that he did not like jolts. They returned to the summer-house. Everything was ready, but Ignaty was still in the kitchen eating slowly and solidly.

"How does Vladya get on with his lessons?" asked Marta.

She did not know what else to talk about with Peredonov, and Vershina had more than once reproached her for not knowing how to entertain him.

"Badly," said Peredonov; "he's lazy and doesn't pay attention."

Vershina loved to grumble. She began to scold Vladya.

The boy flushed and smiled, and shrivelled into his clothes as if he were cold, lifting one shoulder higher than the other, as his habit was.

"The year has only just begun," he said, "I've got plenty of time to catch up."

"You ought to start from the very beginning," said Marta in a very grown-up way, which slightly embarrassed her.

"Yes, he's always in mischief," said Peredonov. "Only yesterday, he was running about with some of the others as if they were street boys. He's impertinent too. Last Thursday he was quite cheeky to me."

Vladya suddenly flushed up with indignation, yet still smiled, and said:

"I wasn't impertinent. I only told the truth. The other copy-books had five mistakes not marked, and all mine were marked. And I only got two though mine was better than the boys who got three."

"And that wasn't the only time you were impertinent," persisted Peredonov.

"I wasn't impertinent, I only said that I would tell the inspector," said Vladya heatedly.

"Vladya, you forget yourself!" said Vershina angrily; "instead of apologising you're only repeating what you said."

Vladya suddenly remembered that he ought not to provoke Peredonov, as he might marry Marta. He grew even redder and in his confusion shifted his belt and said timidly:

"I'm sorry. I only meant to ask you to make the correction."

"Be quiet, please!" interrupted Vershina. "I can't stand such wrangling—I really can't," she repeated, and her thin body trembled almost imperceptibly. "You're being spoken to, so be silent," and Vershina poured out on Vladya many reproachful words, puffing at her cigarette and smiling her wry smile, as she usually did when she was talking, no matter what the subject was.

"We shall have to tell your father, so that he can punish you," she concluded.

"He needs birching," suggested Peredonov, and looked angrily at the offending Vladya.

"Certainly," agreed Vershina. "He needs birching."

"He needs birching," repeated Marta and blushed.

"I'm going with you to your father to-day," said Peredonov, "and I'll see that he gives you a good birching."

Vladya looked silently at his tormentors, shrank within himself and smiled through his tears. His father was a harsh man. Vladya tried to console himself with the thought that these were only threats. Surely, he thought, they would not really spoil his holiday. For a holiday was a specially happy occasion and not a schoolday affair.

But Peredonov was always pleased when he saw boys cry, especially when he so arranged it that they cried and apologised at the same time. Vladya's confusion, the suppressed tears in his eyes and his timid, guilty smile, all these gave Peredonov joy. He decided to accompany Marta and Vladya.

"Very well, I'll come with you," he said to Marta.

Marta was glad but a little frightened. Of course she wanted Peredonov to go with them, or it would perhaps be more truthful to say that Vershina wanted it for her, and had instilled the desire into her by suggestion. But now that Peredonov said that he would come, Marta somehow felt uneasy on Vladya's account—she felt sorry for him.

Vladya also became sad. Surely Peredonov was not going on his account? In the hope of appeasing Peredonov, he said:

"If you think, Ardalyon Borisitch, that it will be a tight squeeze, then I will go on foot."

Peredonov looked at him suspiciously and said:

"That's all very well, but if I let you go alone, you'll run away somewhere. No, I think we had better take you to your father and he'll give you what you deserve!"

Vladya flushed once more and sighed. He began to feel uneasy and depressed, and indignant at this cruel, morose man. To soften Peredonov's heart, he decided to make his seat more comfortable.

"I'll make it so that you won't feel the jolts," he said.

And he scurried hastily towards the cart. Vershina looked after him, still smoking, with her wry smile, and said quietly to Peredonov:

"They're all afraid of their father. He's very stern with them."

Marta flushed.

Vladya wanted to take with him to the village his new English fishing-rod, bought with his saved-up money. And he wanted to take something else. But this would have occupied room in the cart and so Vladya carried all his goods back into the house.

The weather was moderate, the sun was beginning to decline. The road, wet with the morning rain, was free of dust. The cart rolled evenly over the fine stones, carrying its four passengers from the town; the well-fed grey cob trotted along as if their weight were nothing, and the lazy, taciturn driver, Ignaty, drove the cob on a light rein.

Peredonov was seated beside Marta. They had made him a wide seat, so that Marta's was very uncomfortable. But he did not notice this. And even if he had noticed it, he would have thought it quite proper, since he was the guest.

Peredonov felt on very good terms with himself. He decided to talk very amiably to Marta, to joke with her and to entertain her. This is how he began:

"Well, are you going to rebel soon?"

"Why rebel?" asked Marta.

"You Poles are always getting ready to rebel—but it's useless."

"I'm not thinking about it at all," said Marta, "and there's no one among us who wants to rebel."

"Oh, you only say that—you really hate the Russians."

"We haven't any such idea," said Vladya, turning to Peredonov from the front seat.

"Yes, we know what sort of an idea you have about it," answered Peredonov. "But we're not going to give Poland back to you. We have conquered you. We have conferred many benefits on you and yet it's true that however well you feed a wolf he always looks towards the wood."

Marta said nothing.

After a short silence Peredonov said abruptly:

"The Poles have no brains."

Marta flushed.

"There are all kinds of people among both Russians and Poles," she said.

"No, what I say is true," persisted Peredonov, "the Poles are stupid. They only submit to force. Take the Jews—they're clever."

"The Jews are cheats—they're not clever at all," said Vladya.

"No, the Jews are a very clever people. The Jew always gets the best of a Russian, but a Russian never gets the best of a Jew."

"It isn't a great thing to get the best of other people," said Vladya. "Is mind only to be used for cheating?"

Peredonov looked angrily at Vladya.

"The mind is for learning, and you don't learn," he said.

Vladya sighed and turned away and began to watch the cob's even trotting. But Peredonov continued:

"The Jews are clever in everything. Clever in learning and in everything. If the Jews were allowed to become professors, all professors would be Jews. But the Polish women are all sluts."

He looked at Marta and noted with satisfaction that she blushed violently. He became amiable:

"Now, don't think that I'm talking about you. I know that you would be a good housekeeper."

"All Polish women are good housekeepers," replied Marta.

"Well, yes," said Peredonov, "they're good housekeepers. They're clean on top, but their petticoats are dirty. But then you had Mickiewicz.[1] He's better than our Pushkin. He hangs on my wall—Pushkin used to hang there, but I took him down and hung him in the privy. He was a lackey."

"But you're a Russian," said Vladya. "What's our Mickiewicz to you? Pushkin's a good poet and Mickiewicz's a good poet."

"Mickiewicz is better," asseverated Peredonov. "The Russians are fools. They've invented only the samovar—nothing else."

Peredonov looked at Marta, screwed up one eye and said:

"You've got a lot of freckles. That's not pretty."

"What can one do?" asked Marta, smiling.

"I've got freckles too," said Vladya, turning round on his narrow seat and brushing against the silent Ignaty.

"You're a boy," said Peredonov, "and so it doesn't matter. A man needn't be handsome; but it doesn't become a girl," he went on, turning to Marta. "No one will want to marry you. You ought to bathe your face in cucumber-brine."

Marta thanked him for his advice.

Vladya looked smilingly at Peredonov.

"What are you grinning at?" said Peredonov. "Just wait till we're there—then you'll get what's waiting for you."

Vladya, shifting in his seat, looked attentively at Peredonov and tried to find out if he were joking or speaking seriously. But Peredonov could not bear to have anyone stare at him.

"What are you eyeing me for?" he asked harshly. "There are no patterns on me. Are you trying to cast a spell on me?"

Vladya was frightened and turned away his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he added timidly, "I didn't do it on purpose."

"And do you believe in the evil eye?" asked Marta.

"Of course the evil eye is a superstition," said Peredonov angrily. "But it's so awfully rude to stare at people."

There was an awkward silence for the next few minutes.

"You're very poor, aren't you?" said Peredonov suddenly.

"Well, we're not rich," said Marta, "but still we're not so poor. Each one of us has a little something put aside."

Peredonov looked at her incredulously and said:

"I'm sure you're poor. You go barefoot at home every day."

"We don't do it from poverty," exclaimed Vladya.

"What then? From wealth?" asked Peredonov, and burst into a laugh.

"Not at all from poverty," said Vladya flushing. "It's very good for the health. It hardens one, and it's very pleasant in summer."

"You're lying," said Peredonov coarsely, "rich people don't go barefoot. Your father has a lot of children and hasn't got tuppence to keep them on. You can't afford to buy so many boots."

[1] Great Polish poet (1798-1855) who "is held to have been the greatest Slavonic poet with the exception of Pushkin."

[CHAPTER VII]

Varvara had no knowledge of Peredonov's trip. She passed an extremely distressing night.

When Peredonov returned to town in the morning he did not go home, but asked to be driven to church—it was time for Mass. It seemed dangerous to him now not to go to church often—they might inform against him if he did not.

At the church gate he met a pleasant-looking schoolboy, with a rosy, ingenuous face and innocent blue eyes. Peredonov said to him:

"Hullo there, Mashenka, hullo, girlie!"

Misha Koudryavtsev flushed painfully. Peredonov often teased him by calling him "Mashenka"—Misha did not understand why and could not make up his mind to complain. A number of his companions, stupid youngsters elbowing each other, laughed at Peredonov's words. They too liked to tease Misha.

The church, dedicated to the prophet Elias, an old structure built in the days of Tsar Mikhail, stood in the square, facing the school. For this reason, on church holidays, at Mass and for Vespers, the schoolboys had to gather here and to stand in rows on the left by the chapel of St. Catherine the Martyr, while behind them stood one of the assistant masters in order to keep discipline. Here also in a row, nearer the centre of the church, stood the form masters, as well as the inspector and the Head-Master, with their families. It was usual for nearly all the orthodox schoolboys to gather here, except the few who were permitted to attend their parish churches with their parents.

The choir of schoolboys sang well, and for this reason the church was attended by merchants of the First Guild, officials and the families of landed gentry. There were only a few of the common folk—especially since, in conformity with the Head-Master's wish, Mass was celebrated there later than in other churches.

Peredonov stood in his usual place, from which he could see all the members of the choir. Screwing up his eyes, he looked at them and thought that they were standing out of their places. If he had been inspector he would have pulled them up. There was, for example, a smooth-faced boy, named Kramarenko, a small, thin, fidgety youngster who was constantly turning this way and that way, whispering, smiling—and there was no one to keep him in order. It seemed to be no one's affair.

"What confusion!" thought Peredonov. "These choir-boys are all good-for-nothings. That dark youngster there has a fine, clear soprano—so he thinks he can whisper and grin in church."

And Peredonov frowned.

At his side stood a late-comer, the inspector of the National Schools, Sergey Potapovitch Bogdanov, an oldish man with a brown, stupid face, who always looked as if he wanted to explain to somebody something which he could never make head or tail of himself. No one was easier to frighten or to astonish than Bogdanov: no sooner did he hear anything new or disquieting than his forehead would become wrinkled from his inward, painful efforts and from his mouth would issue a string of incoherent and perplexed exclamations.

Peredonov bent towards him and said in a whisper:

"One of your schoolmistresses walks about in a red shirt!"

Bogdanov was alarmed. His white Adam's apple twitched with fear under his chin.

"What do you say?" he whispered hoarsely. "Who is she?"

"The loud-voiced, fat one—I don't know what her name is," whispered Peredonov.

"The loud-voiced one, the loud-voiced one," repeated Bogdanov in a confused way, "that must be Skobotchkina. Yes?"

"Yes, that must be the one," declared Peredonov.

"Well! Good heavens! Who'd have thought that!" exclaimed Bogdanov. "Skobotchkina in a red shirt! Well! Did you see it with your own eyes?"

"Yes, I saw her, and they tell me she goes into school like that. And sometimes even worse; she puts on a sarafan[1] and walks about like a common girl."

"You don't say so! I must look into it! We can't have that! We can't have that! She'll have to be dismissed, dismissed, I say," babbled on Bogdanov. "She was always like that."

Mass was over. As they were leaving the church, Peredonov said to Kramarenko:

"Here, you whippety-snippet! Why were you grinning in church? Just wait, I shall tell your father!"

Kramarenko looked at Peredonov in astonishment and ran past him without speaking. He belonged to that number of pupils who thought Peredonov coarse, stupid and unjust, and who therefore disliked and despised him. The majority of the pupils thought similarly. Peredonov imagined that these were the boys who had been prejudiced against him by the Head-Master, if not personally, at least through his sons.

Peredonov was approached on the other side of the fence by Volodin. He was chuckling happily, and his face was as cheerful as if it were his birthday; he wore a bowler hat and carried his cane in the fashionable way.

"I've something to tell you, Ardalyon Borisitch," he said gleefully. "I've managed to persuade Cherepnin, and very soon he's going to smear Marta's gate with tar!"

Peredonov said nothing for a moment. He seemed to be considering something, and then suddenly burst into his usual morose laughter. Volodin at once ceased grinning, assumed a sober look, straightened his bowler hat, looked at the sky, swung his stick and said:

"It's a fine day, but it looks as if it will rain this evening. Well, let it rain; I shall spend the evening at the future inspector's house."

"I can't waste any time at home now," said Peredonov, "I've got more important affairs to attend to in town."

Volodin looked as if he comprehended, though he really had no idea what business Peredonov had to attend to. Peredonov determined that he must, without fail, make several visits. Yesterday's chance meeting with the Lieutenant-Colonel had suggested to him an idea which now seemed to him very important: to make the rounds of all important personages of the town to assure them of his loyalty. If he should succeed, then, in an emergency, Peredonov would find defenders in the town who would testify to the correctness of his attitude.

"Where are you going, Ardalyon Borisitch?" asked Volodin, seeing that Peredonov was turning off from the path by which he usually went back from church. "Aren't you going home?"

"Yes, I'm going home," answered Peredonov, "but I don't like to go along that street now."

"Why?"

"There's a lot of durman[2] growing there, and the smell's very strong. I'm very much affected by it—it stupefies me. My nerves are on edge just now. I seem to have nothing but worries."