"You are young, pretty ... such I like."

"So that's it! But what will Emilie say? She wrote me a letter: she is


sure to be back directly."

"You not tell her ... nothing! Trouble! She will kill!"

Kuzma Vassilyevitch laughed.

"As though she were so fierce!"

Colibri gravely shook her head several times.

"And to Madame Fritsche, too, nothing. No, no, no!" She tapped herself


lightly on the forehead. "Do you understand, officer?"

Kuzma Vassilyevitch frowned.

"It's a secret, then?"

"Yes ... yes."

"Very well.... I won't say a word. Only you ought to give me a kiss


for that."

"No, afterwards ... when you are gone."

"That's a fine idea!" Kuzma Vassilyevitch was bending down to her but


she slowly drew herself back and stood stiffly erect like a snake


startled in the grass. Kuzma Vassilyevitch stared at her. "Well!" he


said at last, "you are a spiteful thing! All right, then."

Colibri pondered and turned to the lieutenant.... All at once there


was the muffled sound of tapping repeated three times at even


intervals somewhere in the house. Colibri laughed, almost snorted.

"To-day--no, to-morrow--yes. Come to-morrow."

"At what time?".

"Seven ... in the evening."

"And what about Emilie?"

"Emilie ... no; will not be here."

"You think so? Very well. Only, to-morrow you will tell me?"

"What?" (Colibri's face assumed a childish expression every time she


asked a question.)

"Why you have been hiding away from me all this time?"

"Yes ... yes; everything shall be to-morrow; the end shall be."

"Mind now! And I'll bring you a present."

"No ... no need."

"Why not? I see you like fine clothes."

"No need. This ... this ... this ..." she pointed to her dress, her


rings, her bracelets, and everything about her, "it is all my own. Not


a present. I do not take."

"As you like. And now must I go?"

"Oh, yes."

Kuzma Vassilyevitch got up. Colibri got up, too.

"Good-bye, pretty little doll! And when will you give me a kiss?"

Colibri suddenly gave a little jump and swiftly flinging both arms


round his neck, gave him not precisely a kiss but a peck at his lips.


He tried in his turn to kiss her but she instantly darted back and


stood behind the sofa.

"To-morrow at seven o'clock, then?" he said with some confusion.

She nodded and taking a tress of her long hair with her two fingers,


bit it with her sharp teeth.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch kissed his hand to her, went out and shut the door


after him. He heard Colibri run up to it at once.... The key clicked


in the lock.

XVII

There was no one in Madame Fritsche's drawing-room. Kuzma


Vassilyevitch made his way to the passage at once. He did not want to


meet Emilie. Madame Fritsche met him on the steps.

"Ah, you are going, Mr. Lieutenant?" she said, with the same affected


and sinister smile. "You won't wait for Emilie?"

Kuzma Vassilyevitch put on his cap.

"I haven't time to wait any longer, madam. I may not come to-morrow,


either. Please tell her so."

"Very good, I'll tell her. But I hope you haven't been dull, Mr.


Lieutenant?"

"No, I have not been dull."

"I thought not. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

Kuzma Vassilyevitch returned home and stretching himself on his bed


sank into meditation. He was unutterably perplexed. "What marvel is


this?" he cried more than once. And why did Emilie write to him? She


had made an appointment and not come! He took out her letter, turned


it over in his hands, sniffed it: it smelt of tobacco and in one place


he noticed a correction. But what could he deduce from that? And was


it possible that Madame Fritsche knew nothing about it? And


she.... Who was she? Yes, who was she? The fascinating Colibri,


that "pretty doll," that "little image," was always before him and he


looked forward with impatience to the following evening, though


secretly he was almost afraid of this "pretty doll" and "little


image."

XVIII

Next day Kuzma Vassilyevitch went shopping before dinner, and, after


persistent haggling, bought a tiny gold cross on a little velvet


ribbon. "Though she declares," he thought, "that she never takes


presents, we all know what such sayings mean; and if she really is so


disinterested, Emilie won't be so squeamish." So argued this Don Juan


of Nikolaev, who had probably never heard of the original Don Juan and


knew nothing about him. At six o'clock in the evening Kuzma


Vassilyevitch shaved carefully and sending for a hairdresser he knew,


told him to pomade and curl his topknot, which the latter did with


peculiar zeal, not sparing the government note paper for curlpapers;


then Kuzma Vassilyevitch put on a smart new uniform, took into his


right hand a pair of new wash-leather gloves, and, sprinkling himself


with lavender water, set off. Kuzma Vassilyevitch took a great deal


more trouble over his personal appearance on this occasion than when


he went to see his "Zuckerpüppchen", not because he liked Colibri


better than Emilie but in the "pretty little doll" there was something


enigmatic, something which stirred even the sluggish imagination of


the young lieutenant.

XIX

Madame Fritsche greeted him as she had done the day before and as


though she had conspired with him in a plan of deception, informed him


again that Emilie had gone out for a short time and asked him to wait.


Kuzma Vassilyevitch nodded in token of assent and sat down on a chair.


Madame Fritsche smiled again, that is, showed her yellow tusks and


withdrew without offering him any chocolate.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch instantly fixed his eyes on the mysterious door.


It remained closed. He coughed loudly once or twice so as to make


known his presence.... The door did not stir. He held his breath,


strained his ears.... He heard not the faintest sound or rustle;


everything was still as death. Kuzma Vassilyevitch got up, approached


the door on tiptoe and, fumbling in vain with his fingers, pressed his


knee against it. It was no use. Then he bent down and once or twice


articulated in a loud whisper, "Colibri! Colibri! Little doll!" No one


responded. Kuzma Vassilyevitch drew himself up, straightened his


uniform--and, after standing still a little while, walked with more


resolute steps to the window and began drumming on the pane. He began


to feel vexed, indignant; his dignity as an officer began to assert


itself. "What nonsense is this?" he thought at last; "whom do they


take me for? If they go on like this, I'll knock with my fists. She


will be forced to answer! The old woman will hear.... What of it?


That's not my fault." He turned swiftly on his heel ... the door stood


half open.

XX

Kuzma Vassilyevitch immediately hastened into the secret room again on


tiptoe. Colibri was lying on the sofa in a white dress with a broad


red sash. Covering the lower part of her face with a handkerchief, she


was laughing, a noiseless but genuine laugh. She had done up her hair,


this time plaiting it into two long, thick plaits intertwined with red


ribbon; the same slippers adorned her tiny, crossed feet but the feet


themselves were bare and looking at them one might fancy that she had


on dark, silky stockings. The sofa stood in a different position,


nearer the wall; and on the table he saw on a Chinese tray a


bright-coloured, round-bellied coffee pot beside a cut glass sugar bowl


and two blue China cups. The guitar was lying there, too, and blue-grey


smoke rose in a thin coil from a big, aromatic candle.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch went up to the sofa and bent over Colibri, but


before he had time to utter a word she held out her hand and, still


laughing in her handkerchief, put her little, rough fingers into his


hair and instantly ruffled the well-arranged curls on the top of his


head.

"What next?" exclaimed Kuzma Vassilyevitch, not altogether pleased by


such unceremoniousness. "Oh, you naughty girl!"

Colibri took the handkerchief from her face.

"Not nice so; better now." She moved away


to the further end of the sofa and drew her feet


up under her. "Sit down ... there."

Kuzma Vassilyevitch sat down on the spot indicated.

"Why do you move away?" he said, after a brief silence. "Surely you


are not afraid of me?"

Colibri curled herself up and looked at him sideways.

"I am not afraid ... no."

"You must not be shy with me," Kuzma Vassilyevitch said in an


admonishing tone. "Do you remember your promise yesterday to give me a


kiss?"

Colibri put her arms round her knees, laid her head on them and looked


at him again.

"I remember."

"I should hope so. And you must keep your word."

"Yes ... I must."

"In that case," Kuzma Vassilyevitch was beginning, and he moved


nearer.

Colibri freed her plaits which she was holding tight with her knees


and with one of them gave him a flick on his hand.

"Not so fast, sir!"

Kuzma Vassilyevitch was embarrassed.

"What eyes she has, the rogue!" he muttered, as though to himself.


"But," he went on, raising his voice, "why did you call me ... if that


is how it is?"

Colibri craned her neck like a bird ... she listened. Kuzma


Vassilyevitch was alarmed.

"Emilie?" he asked.

"No."

"Someone else?"

Colibri shrugged her shoulder.

"Do you hear something?"

"Nothing." With a birdlike movement, again Colibri drew back her


little oval-shaped head with its pretty parting and the short growth


of tiny curls on the nape of her neck where her plaits began, and


again curled herself up into a ball. "Nothing."

"Nothing! Then now I'll ..." Kuzma Vassilyevitch craned forward


towards Colibri but at once pulled back his hand. There was a drop of


blood on his finger. "What foolishness is this!" he cried, shaking his


finger. "Your everlasting pins! And the devil of a pin it is!" he


added, looking at the long, golden pin which Colibri slowly thrust


into her sash. "It's a regular dagger, it's a sting.... Yes, yes, it's


your sting, and you are a wasp, that's what you are, a wasp, do you


hear?"

Apparently Colibri was much pleased at Kuzma Vasselyevitch's


comparison; she went off into a thin laugh and repeated several times


over:

"Yes, I will sting ... I will sting."

Kuzma Vassilyevitch looked at her and thought: "She is laughing but


her face is melancholy.

"Look what I am going to show you," he said aloud.

"Tso?"

"Why do you say tso? Are you a Pole?"

"Nee."

"Now you say nee! But there, it's no matter." Kuzma


Vassilyevitch got out his present and waved it in the air. "Look at


it.... Isn't it nice?"

Colibri raised her eyes indifferently.

"Ah! A cross! We don't wear."

"What? You don't wear a cross? Are you a Jewess then, or what?"

"We don't wear," repeated Colibri, and, suddenly starting, looked back


over her shoulder. "Would you like me to sing?" she asked hurriedly.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch put the cross in the pocket of his uniform and he,


too, looked round.

"What is it?" he muttered.

"A mouse ... a mouse," Colibri said hurriedly, and suddenly to Kuzma


Vassilyevitch's complete surprise, flung her smooth, supple arms round


his neck and a rapid kiss burned his cheek ... as though a red-hot


ember had been pressed against it.

He pressed Colibri in his arms but she slipped away like a snake--her


waist was hardly thicker than the body of a snake--and leapt to her


feet.

"Wait," she whispered, "you must have some coffee first."

"Nonsense! Coffee, indeed! Afterwards."

"No, now. Now hot, after cold." She took hold of the coffee pot by the


handle and, lifting it high, began pouring out two cups. The coffee


fell in a thin, as it were, twirling stream; Colibri leaned her head


on her shoulder and watched it fall. "There, put in the sugar ...


drink ... and I'll drink."

Kuzma Vassilyevitch put a lump of sugar in the cup and drank it off at


one draught. The coffee struck him as very strong and bitter. Colibri


looked at him, smiling, and faintly dilated her nostrils over the edge


of her cup. She slowly put it down on the table.

"Why don't you drink it?" asked Kuzma Vassilyevitch.

"Not all, now."

Kuzma Vassilyevitch got excited.

"Do sit down beside me, at least."

"In a minute." She bent her head and, still keeping her eyes fixed on


Kuzma Vassilyevitch, picked up the guitar. "Only I will sing first."

"Yes, yes, only sit down."

"And I will dance. Shall I?"

"You dance? Well, I should like to see that. But can't that be


afterwards?"

"No, now.... But I love you very much."

"You love? Mind now ... dance away, then, you queer creature."

XXI

Colibri stood on the further side of the table and running her fingers


several times over the strings of the guitar and to the surprise of


Kuzma Vassilyevitch, who was expecting a lively, merry song, began


singing a slow, monotonous air, accompanying each separate sound,


which seemed as though it were wrung out of her by force, with a


rhythmical swaying of her body to right and left. She did not smile,


and indeed knitted her brows, her delicate, high, rounded eyebrows,


between which a dark blue mark, probably burnt in with gunpowder,


stood out sharply, looking like some letter of an oriental alphabet.


She almost closed her eyes but their pupils glimmered dimly under the


drooping lids, fastened as before on Kuzma Vassilyevitch. And he, too,


could not look away from those marvellous, menacing eyes, from that


dark-skinned face that gradually began to glow, from the half-closed


and motionless lips, from the two black snakes rhythmically moving on


both sides of her graceful head. Colibri went on swaying without


moving from the spot and only her feet were working; she kept lightly


shifting them, lifting first the toe and then the heel. Once she


rotated rapidly and uttered a piercing shriek, waving the guitar high


in the air.... Then the same monotonous movement accompanied by the


same monotonous singing, began again. Kuzma Vassilyevitch sat


meanwhile very quietly on the sofa and went on looking at Colibri; he


felt something strange and unusual in himself: he was conscious of


great lightness and freedom, too great lightness, in fact; he seemed,


as it were, unconscious of his body, as though he were floating and at


the same time shudders ran down him, a sort of agreeable weakness


crept over his legs, and his lips and eyelids tingled with drowsiness.


He had no desire now, no thought of anything ... only he was


wonderfully at ease, as though someone were lulling him, "singing him


to bye-bye," as Emilie had expressed it, and he whispered to himself,


"little doll!" At times the face of the "little doll" grew misty. "Why


is that?" Kuzma Vassilyevitch wondered. "From the smoke," he reassured


himself. "There is such a blue smoke here." And again someone was


lulling him and even whispering in his ear something so sweet ... only


for some reason it was always unfinished. But then all of a sudden in


the little doll's face the eyes opened till they were immense,


incredibly big, like the arches of a bridge.... The guitar dropped,


and striking against the floor, clanged somewhere at the other end of


the earth.... Some very near and dear friend of Kuzma Vassilyevitch's


embraced him firmly and tenderly from behind and set his cravat


straight. Kuzma Vassilyevitch saw just before his own face the hooked


nose, the thick moustache and the piercing eyes of the stranger with


the three buttons on his cuff ... and although the eyes were in the


place of the moustache and the nose itself seemed upside down, Kuzma


Vassilyevitch was not in the least surprised, but, on the contrary,


thought that this was how it ought to be; he was even on the point of


saying to the nose, "Hullo, brother Grigory," but he changed his mind


and preferred ... preferred to set off with Colibri to Constantinople


at once for their forthcoming wedding, as she was a Turk and the Tsar


promoted him to be an actual Turk.

XXII

And opportunely a little boat appeared: he lifted his foot to get into


it and though through clumsiness he stumbled and hurt himself rather


badly, so that for some time he did not know where anything was, yet


he managed it and getting into the boat, floated on the big river,


which, as the River of Time, flows to Constantinople in the map on the


walls of the Nikolaevsky High School. With great satisfaction he


floated down the river and watched a number of red ducks which


continually met him; they would not let him come near them, however,


and, diving, changed into round, pink spots. And Colibri was going


with him, too, but to escape the sultry heat she hid, under the boat


and from time to time knocked on the bottom of it.... And here at last


was Constantinople. The houses, as houses should, looked like Tyrolese


hats; and the Turks had all big, sedate faces; only it did not do to


look at them too long: they began wriggling, making faces and at last


melted away altogether like thawing snow. And here was the palace in


which he would live with Colibri.... And how well everything was


arranged in it! Walls with generals' gold lace on it, everywhere


epaulettes, people blowing trumpets in the corners and one could float


into the drawing-room in the boat. Of course, there was a portrait of


Mahomet.... Only Colibri kept running ahead through the rooms and her


plaits trailed after her on the floor and she would not turn round,


and she kept growing smaller and smaller.... And now it was not


Colibri but a boy in a jacket and he was the boy's tutor and he had to


climb after the boy into a telescope, and the telescope got narrower


and narrower, till at last he could not move ... neither backwards nor


forwards, and something fell on his back ... there was earth in his


mouth.

XXIII

Kuzma Vassilyevitch opened his eyes. It was daylight and everything


was still ... there was a smell of vinegar and mint. Above him and at


his sides there was something white; he looked more intently: it was


the canopy of a bed. He wanted to raise his head ... he could not; his


hand ... he could not do that, either. What was the meaning of it? He


dropped his eyes.... A long body lay stretched before him and over it


a yellow blanket with a brown edge. The body proved to be his, Kuzma


Vassilyevitch's. He tried to cry out ... no sound came. He tried


again, did his very utmost ... there was the sound of a feeble moan


quavering under his nose. He heard heavy footsteps and a sinewy hand


parted the bed curtains. A grey-headed pensioner in a patched military


overcoat stood gazing at him.... And he gazed at the pensioner. A big


tin mug was put to Kuzma Vassilyevitch's lips. He greedily drank some


cold water. His tongue was loosened. "Where am I?" The pensioner


glanced at him once more, went away and came back with another man in


a dark uniform. "Where am I?" repeated Kuzma Vassilyevitch. "Well, he


will live now," said the man in the dark uniform. "You are in the


hospital," he added aloud, "but you must go to sleep. It is bad for


you to talk." Kuzma Vassilyevitch began to feel surprised, but sank


into forgetfulness again....

Next morning the doctor appeared. Kuzma Vassilyevitch came to himself.


The doctor congratulated him on his recovery and ordered the bandages


round his head to be changed.

"What? My head? Why, am I ..."

"You mustn't talk, you mustn't excite yourself," the doctor


interrupted. "Lie still and thank the Almighty. Where are the


compresses, Poplyovkin?"

"But where is the money ... the government money ..."

"There! He is lightheaded again. Some more ice, Poplyovkin."

XXIV

Another week passed. Kuzma Vassilyevitch was so much better that the


doctors found it possible to tell him what had happened to him. This


is what he learned.

At seven o'clock in the evening on the 16th of June he had visited the


house of Madame Fritsche for the last time and on the 17th of June at


dinner time, that is, nearly twenty-four hours later, a shepherd had


found him in a ravine near the Herson high road, a mile and a half


from Nikolaev, with a broken head and crimson bruises on his neck. His


uniform and waistcoat had been unbuttoned, all his pockets turned


inside out, his cap and cutlass were not to be found, nor his leather


money belt. From the trampled grass, from the broad track upon the


grass and the clay, it could be inferred that the luckless lieutenant


had been dragged to the bottom of the ravine and only there had been


gashed on his head, not with an axe but with a sabre--probably his own


cutlass: there were no traces of blood on his track from the high road


while there was a perfect pool of blood round his head. There could be


no doubt that his assailants had first drugged him, then tried to


strangle him and, taking him out of the town by night, had dragged him


to the ravine and there given him the final blow. It was only thanks


to his truly iron constitution that Kuzma Vassilyevitch had not died.


He had returned to consciousness on July 22nd, that is, five weeks


later.

XXV

Kuzma Vassilyevitch immediately informed the authorities of the


misfortune that had happened to him; he stated all the circumstances of


the case verbally and in writing and gave the address of Madame


Fritsche. The police raided the house but they found no one there; the


birds had flown. They got hold of the owner of the house. But they


could not get much sense out of the latter, a very old and deaf


workman. He lived in a different part of the town and all he knew was


that four months before he had let his house to a Jewess with a


passport, whose name was Schmul or Schmulke, which he had immediately


registered at the police station. She had been joined by another woman,


so he stated, who also had a passport, but what was their calling did


not know; and whether they had other people living with them had not


heard and did not know; the lad whom he used to keep as porter or


watchman in the house had gone away to Odessa or Petersburg, and the


new porter had only lately come, on the 1st of July.

Inquiries were made at the police station and in the neighbourhood; it


appeared that Madame Schmulke, together with her companion, whose real


name was Frederika Bengel, had left Nikolaev about the 20th of June,


but where they had gone was unknown. The mysterious man with a gipsy


face and three buttons on his cuff and the dark-skinned foreign girl


with an immense mass of hair, no one had seen. As soon as Kuzma


Vassilyevitch was discharged from the hospital, he visited the house


that had been so fateful for him. In the little room where he had


talked to Colibri and where there was still a smell of musk, there was


a second secret door; the sofa had been moved in front of it on his


second visit and through it no doubt the murderer had come and seized


him from behind. Kuzma Vassilyevitch lodged a formal complaint;


proceedings were taken. Several numbered reports and instructions were


dispatched in various directions; the appropriate acknowledgments and


replies followed in due course.... There the incident closed. The


suspicious characters had disappeared completely and with them the


stolen government money had vanished, too, one thousand, nine hundred


and seventeen roubles and some kopecks, in paper and gold. Not an


inconsiderable sum in those days! Kuzma Vassilyevitch was paying back


instalments for ten years, when, fortunately for him, an act of


clemency from the Throne cancelled the debt.

XXVI

He was himself at first firmly convinced that Emilie, his treacherous


Zuckerpüppchen, was to blame for all his trouble and had originated


the plot. He remembered how on the last day he had seen her he had


incautiously dropped asleep on the sofa and how when he woke he had


found her on her knees beside him and how confused she had been, and


how he had found a hole in his belt that evening--a hole evidently


made by her scissors. "She saw the money," thought Kuzma


Vassilyevitch, "she told the old hag and those other two devils, she


entrapped me by writing me that letter ... and so they cleaned me out.


But who could have expected it of her!" He pictured the pretty,


good-natured face of Emilie, her clear eyes.... "Women! women!" he


repeated, gnashing his teeth, "brood of crocodiles!" But when he had


finally left the hospital and gone home, he learned one circumstance


which perplexed and nonplussed him. On the very day when he was


brought half dead to the town, a girl whose description corresponded


exactly to that of Emilie had rushed to his lodging with tear-stained


face and dishevelled hair and inquiring about him from his orderly,


had dashed off like mad to the hospital. At the hospital she had been


told that Kuzma Vassilyevitch would certainly die and she had at once


disappeared, wringing her hands with a look of despair on her face. It


was evident that she had not foreseen, had not expected the murder. Or


perhaps she had herself been deceived and had not received her


promised share? Had she been overwhelmed by sudden remorse? And yet


she had left Nikolaev afterwards with that loathsome old woman who had


certainly known all about it. Kuzma Vassilyevitch was lost in


conjecture and bored his orderly a good deal by making him continually


describe over and over again the appearance of the girl and repeat her


words.

XXVII

A year and a half later Kuzma Vassilyevitch received a letter in


German from Emilie, alias Frederika Bengel, which he promptly


had translated for him and showed us more than once in later days. It


was full of mistakes in spelling and exclamation marks; the postmark


on the envelope was Breslau. Here is the translation, as correct as


may be, of the letter:

"My precious, unforgettable and incomparable Florestan! Mr. Lieutenant


Yergenhof!

"How often I felt impelled to write to you! And I have always


unfortunately put it off, though the thought that you may regard me as


having had a hand in that awful crime has always been the most


appalling thought to me! Oh, dear Mr. Lieutenant! Believe me, the day


when I learnt that you were alive and well, was the happiest day of my


life! But I do not mean to justify myself altogether! I will not tell


a lie! I was the first to discover your habit of carrying your money


round your waist! (Though indeed in our part of the world all the


butchers and meat salesmen do the same!) And I was so incautious as to


let drop a word about it! I even said in joke that it wouldn't be bad


to take a little of your money! But the old wretch (Mr. Florestan! she


was not my aunt) plotted with that godless monster Luigi and


his accomplice! I swear by my mother's tomb, I don't know to this day


who those people were! I only know that his name was Luigi and that


they both came from Bucharest and were certainly great criminals and


were hiding from the police and had money and precious things! Luigi


was a dreadful individual (ein schröckliches Subject), to kill


a fellow-man (einen Mitmenschen) meant nothing at all to him!


He spoke every language--and it was he who that time got our


things back from the cook! Don't ask how! He was capable of anything,


he was an awful man! He assured the old woman that he would only drug


you a little and then take you out of town and put you down somewhere


and would say that he knew nothing about it but that it was your


fault--that you had taken too much wine somewhere! But even then the


wretch had it in his mind that it would be better to kill you so that


there would be no one to tell the tale! He wrote you that letter,


signed with my name and the old woman got me away by craft! I


suspected nothing and I was awfully afraid of Luigi! He used to say to


me, 'I'll cut your throat, I'll cut your throat like a chicken's!' And


he used to twitch his moustache so horribly as he said it! And they


dragged me into a bad company, too.... I am very much ashamed, Mr.


Lieutenant! And even now I shed bitter tears at these memories! ... It


seems to me ... ah! I was not born for such doings.... But there is no


help for it; and this is how it all happened! Afterwards I was


horribly frightened and could not help going away, for if the police


had found us, what would have happened to us then? That accursed Luigi


fled at once as soon as he heard that you were alive. But I soon


parted from them all and though now I am often without a crust of


bread, my heart is at peace! You will ask me perhaps why I came to


Nikolaev? But I can give you no answer! I have sworn! I will finish by


asking of you a favour, a very, very important one: whenever you


remember your little friend Emilie, do not think of her as a


black-hearted criminal! The eternal God sees my heart. I have a bad


morality (Ich habe eine schlechte moralität) and I am


feather-headed, but I am not a criminal. And I shall always love and


remember you, my incomparable Florestan, and shall always wish you


everything good on this earthly globe (auf diesem Erdenrund!).


I don't know whether my letter will reach you, but if it does, write me


a few lines that I may see you have received it. Thereby you will make


very happy your ever-devoted Emilie.

"P. S. Write to F. E. poste restante, Breslau, Silesia.

"P. S. S. I have written to you in German; I could not express my


feelings otherwise; but you write to me in Russian."

XXVIII

"Well, did you answer her?" we asked Kuzma Vassilyevitch.

"I meant to, I meant to many times. But how was I to write? I don't


know German ... and in Russian, who would have translated it? And so I


did not write."

And always as he finished his story, Kuzma Vassilyevitch sighed, shook


his head and said, "that's what it is to be young!" And if among his


audience was some new person who was hearing the famous story for the


first time, he would take his hand, lay it on his skull and make him


feel the scar of the wound.... It really was a fearful wound and the


scar reached from one ear to the other.

1867.


THE DOG

"But if one admits the possibility of the supernatural, the


possibility of its participation in real life, then allow me to ask


what becomes of common sense?" Anton Stepanitch pronounced and he


folded his arms over his stomach.

Anton Stepanitch had the grade of a civil councillor, served in some


incomprehensible department and, speaking emphatically and stiffly in


a bass voice, enjoyed universal respect. He had not long before, in


the words of those who envied him, "had the Stanislav stuck on to


him."

"That's perfectly true," observed Skvorevitch.

"No one will dispute that," added Kinarevitch.

"I am of the same opinion," the master of the house, Finoplentov,


chimed in from the corner in falsetto.

"Well, I must confess, I cannot agree, for something supernatural has


happened to me myself," said a bald, corpulent middle-aged gentleman


of medium height, who had till then sat silent behind the stove. The


eyes of all in the room turned to him with curiosity and surprise, and


there was a silence.

The man was a Kaluga landowner of small means who had lately come to


Petersburg. He had once served in the Hussars, had lost money at


cards, had resigned his commission and had settled in the country. The


recent economic reforms had reduced his income and he had come to the


capital to look out for a suitable berth. He had no qualifications and


no connections, but he confidently relied on the friendship of an old


comrade who had suddenly, for no visible reason, become a person of


importance, and whom he had once helped in thrashing a card sharper.


Moreover, he reckoned on his luck--and it did not fail him: a few days


after his arrival in town he received the post of superintendent of


government warehouses, a profitable and even honourable position,


which did not call for conspicuous abilities: the warehouses


themselves had only a hypothetical existence and indeed it was not


very precisely known with what they were to be filled--but they had


been invented with a view to government economy.

Anton Stepanitch was the first to break the silence.

"What, my dear sir," he began, "do you seriously maintain that


something supernatural has happened to you? I mean to say, something


inconsistent with the laws of nature?"

"I do maintain it," replied the gentleman addressed as "My dear sir,"


whose name was Porfiry Kapitonitch.

"Inconsistent with the laws of nature!" Anton Stepanitch repeated


angrily; apparently he liked the phrase.

"Just so ... yes; it was precisely what you say."

"That's amazing! What do you think of it,


gentlemen?" Anton Stepanitch tried to give


his features an ironical expression, but without


effect--or to speak more accurately, merely


with the effect of suggesting that the dignified


civil councillor had detected an unpleasant


smell. "Might we trouble you, dear sir," he


went on, addressing the Kaluga landowner, "to


give us the details of so interesting an incident?"

"Certainly, why not?" answered the landowner and, moving in a


free-and-easy way to the middle of the room, he spoke as follows:

"I have, gentlemen, as you are probably aware, or perhaps are not


aware, a small estate in the Kozelsky district. In old days I used to


get something out of it, though now, of course, I have nothing to look


forward to but unpleasantness. But enough of politics. Well, in that


district I have a little place: the usual kitchen garden, a little


pond with carp in it, farm buildings of a sort and a little lodge for


my own sinful person ... I am a bachelor. Well, one day--some six


years ago--I came home rather late; I had had a game of cards at a


neighbour's and I was--I beg you to note--the least little bit


elevated, as they say; I undressed, got into bed and put out the


candle. And only fancy, gentlemen: as soon as I put out the candle


there was something moving under my bed! I wondered whether it was a


rat; no, it was not a rat: it moved about, scratched on the floor and


scratched itself.... At last it flapped its ears!

"There was no mistake about it; it was a dog. But where could a dog


have come from? I did not keep one; could some stray dog have run in,


I wondered. I called my servant; Filka was his name. He came in with a


candle.

"'How's this,' I said, 'Filka, my lad? Is that how you look after


things? A dog has got under my bed?' 'What dog?' said he. 'How do I


know,' said I, 'that's your business--to save your master from


disturbance.' My Filka bent down, and began moving the candle under


the bed. 'But there's no dog here,' said he. I bent down, too; there


certainly was no dog there. What a queer thing!--I glanced at Filka


and he was smiling. 'You stupid,' I said to him, 'why are you


grinning. When you opened the door the dog must have whisked out into


the passage. And you, gaping idiot, saw nothing because you are always


asleep. You don't suppose I am drunk, do you?' He would have answered,


but I sent him out, curled up and that night heard nothing more.

"But the next night--only fancy--the thing was repeated. As soon as I


blew out the candle, he scratched himself and flapped his ears again.


Again I called Filka; again he looked under the bed--again there was


nothing! I sent him away, blew out the candle--and, damn it all, the


dog was there again and it was a dog right enough: one could hear it


breathing, biting its coat, looking for fleas.... It was so


distinct--'Filka,' I said, 'come here without the candle!' He came in.


'Well, now,' I said, 'do you hear?' 'Yes,' he said. I could not see


him, but I felt that the fellow was scared. 'What do you make of it?'


said I. 'What do you bid me make of it, Porfiry Kapitonitch? It's


sorcery!' 'You are a foolish fellow,' I said, 'hold your tongue with


your sorcery....' And our voices quavered like a bird's and we were


trembling in the dark as though we were in a fever. I lighted a


candle, no dog, no sound, only us two, as white as chalk. So I kept a


candle burning till morning and I assure you, gentlemen, you may


believe me or you may not, but from that night for six weeks the same


thing was repeated. In the end I actually got used to it and began


putting out the candle, because I couldn't get to sleep in the light.


'Let him fidget,' I thought, 'he doesn't do me any harm.'"

"Well, I see you are not one of the chicken-hearted brigade," Anton


Stepanitch interrupted in a half-contemptuous, half-condescending


tone! "One can see the Hussar at once!"

"I shouldn't be afraid of you in any case," Porfiry Kapitonitch


observed, and for an instant he really did look like a Hussar.

"But listen to the rest. A neighbour came to see me, the very one with


whom I used to play cards. He dined with me on what luck provided and


dropped some fifty roubles for his visit; night came on, it was time


for him to be off. But I had my own idea. 'Stay the night with me,' I


said, 'Vassily Vassilitch; tomorrow, please God, you will win it


back.' Vassily Vassilitch considered and stayed. I had a bed put up


for him in my room.... Well, we went to bed, smoked, chatted--about


the fair sex for the most part, as is only suitable in bachelor


company--we laughed, of course; I saw Vassily Vassilitch put out his


candle and turn his back towards me: as much as to say: 'Good night.'


I waited a little, then I, too, put out my candle. And, only fancy, I


had hardly time to wonder what sort of trick would be played this


time, when the sweet creature was moving again. And moving was not


all; it came out from under the bed, walked across the room, tapped on


the floor with its paws, shook its ears and all of a sudden pushed


against the very chair that was close by Vassily Vassilitch's bed.


'Porfiry Kapitonitch,' said the latter, and in such an unconcerned


voice, you know, 'I did not know you had a dog. What sort is it, a


setter?' 'I haven't a dog,' I said, 'and never have had one!' 'You


haven't? Why, what's this?' 'What's this?' said I, 'why, light


the candle and then you will see for yourself.' 'Isn't it a dog?'


'No.' Vassily Vassilitch turned over in bed. 'But you are joking, dash


it all.' 'No, I am not joking.' I heard him go strike, strike, with a


match, while the creature persisted in scratching its ribs. The light


flared up ... and, hey presto! not a trace remained! Vassily


Vassilitch looked at me and I looked at him. 'What trick is this?' he


said. 'It's a trick,' I said, 'that, if you were to set Socrates


himself on one side and Frederick the Great on the other, even they


could not make it out.' And then I told him all about it. Didn't my


Vassily Vassilitch jump out of bed! As though he had been scalded! He


couldn't get into his boots. 'Horses,' he cried, 'horses!' I began


trying to persuade him, but it was no use! He positively gasped! 'I


won't stay,' he said, 'not a minute! You must be a man under a curse!


Horses.' However, I prevailed upon him. Only his bed was dragged into


another room and nightlights were lighted everywhere. At our tea in


the morning he had regained his equanimity; he began to give me


advice. 'You should try being away from home for a few days, Porfiry


Kapitonitch,' he said, 'perhaps this abomination would leave you.' And


I must tell you: my neighbour was a man of immense intellect. He


managed his mother-in-law wonderfully: he fastened an I. O. U. upon


her; he must have chosen a sentimental moment! She became as soft as


silk, she gave him an authorisation for the management of all her


estate--what more would you have? You know it is something to get the


better of one's mother-in-law. Eh! You can judge for yourselves.


However, he took leave of me in some displeasure; I'd stripped him of


a hundred roubles again. He actually abused me. 'You are ungrateful.'


he said, 'you have no feeling'; but how was I to blame? Well, be that


as it may, I considered his advice. That very day I drove off to the


town and put up at an inn, kept by an old man I knew, a Dissenter. He


was a worthy old fellow, though a little morose from living in


solitude, all his family were dead. But he disliked tobacco and had


the greatest loathing for dogs; I believe he would have been torn to


pieces rather than consent to let a dog into his room. 'For how can


one?' he would say, 'the Queen of Heaven herself is graciously pleased


to be on my wall there, and is an unclean dog to put his infidel nose


there?' Of course, it was lack of education! However, to my thinking,


whatever wisdom a man has he had better stick to that."

"I see you are a great philosopher," Anton Stepanitch interrupted a


second time with the same sarcastic smile.

This time Porfiry Kapitonitch actually frowned.

"How much I know of philosophy I cannot tell," he observed, tugging


grimly at his moustache, "but I would be glad to give you a lesson in


it."

We all simply stared at Anton Stepanitch. Every one of us expected a


haughty reply, or at least a glance like a flash of lightning.... But


the civil councillor turned his contemptuous smile into one of


indifference, then yawned, swung his foot and--that was all!

"Well, I stayed at that old fellow's," Porfiry Kapitonitch went on.


"He gave me a little room, not one of the best, as we were old


friends; his own was close by, the other side of the partition--and


that was just what I wanted. The tortures I faced that night! A little


room, a regular oven, stuffiness, flies, and such sticky ones; in the


corner an extraordinarily big shrine with ancient ikons, with dingy


setting in relief on them. It fairly reeked of oil and some other


stuff, too; there were two featherbeds on the beds. If you moved the


pillow a black beetle would run from under it.... I had drunk an


incredible quantity of tea, feeling so dreary--it was simply dreadful!


I got into bed; there was no possibility of sleeping--and, the other


side of the partition, my host was sighing, clearing his throat,


repeating his prayers. However, he subsided at last. I heard him begin


to snore, but only faintly, in the old-fashioned polite way. I had put


my candle out long ago, but the little lamp was burning before the


ikons.... That prevented it, I suppose. So I got up softly with bare


feet, climbed up to the lamp, and blew it out.... Nothing happened.


'Oho!' I thought, 'so it doesn't come off in other people's houses.'

"But I had no sooner got into bed than there was a commotion again. He


was scraping on the floor and scratching himself and shaking his


ears ... the usual thing, in fact. Very good! I lay still and waited to


see what would happen. I heard the old man wake up. 'Sir,' he said,


'hey, sir.' 'What is it?' 'Did you put out the lamp?' But without


waiting for my answer, he burst out all at once. 'What's that? What's


that, a dog? A dog! Ah, you vile heretic!' 'Wait a bit, old man, before


you scold,' I said. 'You had better come here yourself. Things are


happening,' I said, 'that may well make you wonder.' The old man


stirred behind the partition and came in to me, with a candle, a very,


very thin one, made of yellow wax; I was surprised when I looked at


him! He looked bristling all over, with hairy ears and eyes as fierce


as a weasel's; he had on a white woollen night cap, a beard to his


waist, white; too, and a waistcoat with copper buttons on it over his


shirt and fur boots on his feet and he smelt of juniper. In this


attire he approached the ikons, crossed himself three times with his


two fingers crossed, lighted the lamp, crossed himself again and,


turning to me, just grunted: 'Explain!' And thereupon, without delay,


I told him all that had happened. The old man listened to my account


and did not drop one word, simply shook his head. Then he sat down on


my bed and still said nothing. He scratched his chest, the back of his


head and so on and said nothing. 'Well,' I said, 'Fedul Ivanitch, what


do you think? Is it some devil's sorcery or what?' The old man looked


at me. 'What an idea! Devil's sorcery! A tobacco-smoker like you might


well have that at home, but not here. Only think what holiness there


is here! Sorcery, indeed!' 'And if it is not sorcery, what is it,


then?' The old man was silent again; again he scratched himself and


said at last, but in a muffled voice, for his moustache was all over


his mouth: 'You go to the town of Belyov. There is no one who can help


you but one man. And that man lives in Belyov. He is one of our


people. If he is willing to help you, you are lucky; if he is not,


nothing can be done.' 'And how am I to find this man?' I said. 'I can


direct you about that,' he answered; 'but how can it be sorcery? It is


an apparition, or rather an indication; but you cannot comprehend it,


it is beyond your understanding. Lie down to sleep now with the


blessing of our Lord Christ; I will burn incense and in the morning we


will converse. Morning, you know, brings wisdom.'

"Well, we did converse in the morning, only I was almost stifled by


that incense. And this was the counsel the old man gave me: that when


I reached Belyov I should go into the market place and ask in the


second shop on the right for one Prohoritch, and when I had found


Prohoritch, put into his hand a writing and the writing consisted of a


scrap of paper, on which stood the following words: 'In the name of


the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen. To Sergey Prohorovitch


Pervushin. Trust this man. Feduly Ivanitch.' And below, 'Send the


cabbages, for God's sake.'

"I thanked the old man and without further discussion ordered my


carriage and drove to Belyov. For I reflected, that though I suffered


no harm from my nocturnal visitor, yet it was uncanny and in fact not


quite the thing for a nobleman and an officer--what do you think?"

"And did you really go to Belyov?" murmured Finoplentov.

"Straight to Belyov. I went into the market place and asked at the


second shop on the right for Prohoritch. 'Is there such a person?' I


asked. 'Yes,' they told me. 'And where does he live?' 'By the Oka,


beyond the market gardens.' 'In whose house?' 'In his own.' I went to


the Oka, found his house, though it was really not a house but simply


a hovel. I saw a man wearing a blue patched coat and a ragged cap,


well ... he looked like a working-man, he was standing with his back


to me, digging among his cabbages. I went up to him. 'Are you so and


so?' I said. He turned round and, I tell you the truth, I have never


seen such piercing eyes in my life. Yet the whole face was shrunk up


like a little fist with a little wedge-shaped beard and sunken lips.


He was an old man. 'I am so and so,' he said. 'What are you


needing?' 'Why, this is what I am needing,' I said, and


put the writing in his hand. He looked at me intently and said: 'Come


indoors, I can't read without spectacles.'

"Well, I went with him into his hut--and a hut it certainly was: poor,


bare, crooked; only just holding together. On the wall there was an


ikon of old workmanship as black as a coal; only the whites of the


eyes gleamed in the faces. He took some round spectacles in iron


frames out of a little table, put them on his nose, read the writing


and looked at me again through the spectacles. 'You have need of me?'


'I certainly have,' I answered. 'Well,' said he, 'if you have, tell it


and we will listen.' And, only fancy, he sat down and took a checked


handkerchief out of his pocket, and spread it out on his knee, and the


handkerchief was full of holes, and he looked at me with as much


dignity as though he were a senator or a minister, and he did not


ask me to sit down. And what was still stranger, I felt all at once


awe-stricken, so awe-stricken ... my soul sank into my heels. He


pierced me through with his eyes and that's the fact! I pulled myself


together, however, and told him all my story. He was silent for a


space, shrank into himself, chewed his lips and then questioned me


just like a senator again, majestically, without haste. 'What is your


name?' he asked. 'Your age? What were your parents? Are you single or


married?' Then again he munched his lips, frowned, held up his finger


and spoke: 'Bow down to the holy ikon, to the honourable Saints


Zossima and Savvaty of Solovki.' I bowed down to the earth and did not


get up in a hurry; I felt such awe for the man and such submission


that I believe that whatever he had told me to do I should have done


it on the spot! ... I see you are grinning, gentlemen, but I was in no


laughing mood then, I assure you. 'Get up, sir,' said he at last. 'I


can help you. This is not sent you as a chastisement, but as a


warning; it is for your protection; someone is praying for your


welfare. Go to the market now and buy a young dog and keep it by you


day and night. Your visions will leave you and, moreover, that dog


will be of use to you.'

"I felt as though light dawned upon me, all at once; how those words


delighted me. I bowed down to Prohoritch and would have gone away,


when I bethought me that I could not go away without rewarding him. I


got a three rouble note out of my pocket. But he thrust my hand away


and said, 'Give it to our chapel, or to the poor; the service I have


done you is not to be paid for.' I bowed down to him again almost to


the ground, and set off straight for the market! And only fancy: as


soon as I drew near the shops, lo and behold, a man in a frieze


overcoat comes sauntering towards me carrying under his arm a two


months' old setter puppy with a reddish brown coat, white lips and


white forepaws. 'Stay,' I said to the man in the overcoat, 'what will


you sell it for?' 'For two roubles.' Take three!' The man looked at me


in amazement, thought the gentleman had gone out of his wits, but I


flung the notes in his face, took the pup under my arm and made for my


carriage! The coachman quickly had the horses harnessed and that


evening I reached home. The puppy sat inside my coat all the way and


did not stir; and I kept calling him, 'Little Trésor! Little Trésor!'


I gave him food and drink at once. I had some straw brought in,


settled him and whisked into bed! I blew out the candle: it was dark.


'Well, now begin,' said I. There was silence. 'Begin,' said I, 'you so


and so!'... Not a sound, as though to mock me. Well, I began to feel


so set up that I fell to calling it all sorts of names. But still


there was not a sound! I could only hear the puppy panting! Filka,' I


cried, 'Filka! Come here, you stupid!' He came in. 'Do you hear the


dog?' 'No, sir,' said he, 'I hear nothing,' and he laughed. 'And you


won't hear it ever again,' said I. 'Here's half a rouble for vodka!'


'Let me kiss your hand,' said the foolish fellow, and he stooped down


to me in the darkness.... It was a great relief, I must tell you."

"And was that how it all ended?" asked Anton Stepanitch, this time


without irony.

"The apparitions ended certainly and I was not disturbed in any way,


but wait a bit, the whole business was not over yet. My Trésor grew,


he turned into a fine fellow. He was heavy, with flopping ears and


overhanging lip and a thick tail; a regular sporting dog. And he was


extremely attached to me, too. The shooting in our district is poor,


however, as I had set up a dog, I got a gun, too. I took to sauntering


round the neighbourhood with my Trésor: sometimes one would hit a hare


(and didn't he go after that hare, upon my soul), sometimes a quail,


or a duck. But the great thing was that Trésor was never a step away


from me. Where I went, he went; I even took him to the bath with me, I


did really! One lady actually tried to get me turned out of her


drawing-room on account of Trésor, but I made such an uproar! The


windows I broke! Well, one day ... it was in summer ... and I must


tell you there was a drought at the time such as nobody remembered.


The air was full of smoke or haze. There was a smell of burning, the


sun was like a molten bullet, and as for the dust there was no getting


it out of one's nose and throat. People walked with their mouths wide


open like crows. I got weary of sitting at home in complete


deshabille, with shutters closed; and luckily the heat was beginning


to abate a little.... So I went off, gentlemen, to see a lady, a


neighbour of mine. She lived about three-quarters of a mile away--and


she certainly was a benevolent lady. She was still young and blooming


and of most prepossessing appearance; but she was of rather uncertain


temper. Though that is no harm in the fair sex; it even gives me


pleasure.... Well, I reached her door, and I did feel that I had had a


hot time of it getting there! Well, I thought, Nimfodora Semyonovna


will regale me now with bilberry water and other cooling drinks--and I


had already taken hold of the doorhandle when all at once there was


the tramping of feet and shrieking, and shouting of boys from round


the corner of a hut in the courtyard.... I looked round. Good heavens!


A huge reddish beast was rushing straight towards me; at the first


glance I did not recognise it as a dog: its jaws were open, its eyes


were bloodshot, its coat was bristling.... I had not time to take


breath before the monster bounded up the steps, stood upon its hind


legs and made straight for my chest--it was a position! I was numb


with terror and could not lift my arms. I was completely stupefied....


I could see nothing but the terrible white tusks just before my nose,


the red tongue all covered with white foam. But at the same instant,


another dark body was whisking before me like a ball--it was my


darling Trésor defending me; and he hung like a leech on the brute's


throat! The creature wheezed, grated its teeth and staggered back. I


instantly flung open the door and got into the hall.... I stood hardly


knowing what I was doing with my whole weight on the door, and heard a


desperate battle going on outside. I began shouting and calling for


help; everyone in the house was terribly upset. Nimfodora Semyonovna


ran out with her hair down, the voices in the yard grew louder--and


all at once I heard: 'Hold the gate, hold it, fasten it!' I opened the


door--just a crack, and looked out: the monster was no longer on the


steps, the servants were rushing about the yard in confusion waving


their hands and picking up bits of wood from the ground; they were


quite crazy. 'To the village, it has run off to the village,' shrieked


a peasant woman in a cap of extraordinary size poking her head out of


a dormer window. I went out of the house.

"'Where is my Trésor?' I asked and at once I saw my saviour. He was


coming from the gate limping, covered with wounds and with blood....


'What's the meaning of it?' I asked the servants who were dashing


about the yard as though possessed. 'A mad dog!' they answered, 'the


count's; it's been hanging about here since yesterday.'

"We had a neighbour, a count, who bred very fierce foreign dogs. My


knees shook; I rushed to a looking-glass and looked to see whether I


had been bitten. No, thank God, there was nothing to be seen; only my


countenance naturally looked green; while Nimfodora Semyonovna was


lying on the sofa and cackling like a hen. Well, that one could quite


understand, in the first place nerves, in the second sensibility. She


came to herself at last, though, and asked me whether I were alive. I


answered that I was and that Trésor had saved me. 'Ah,' she said,


'what a noble creature! and so the mad dog has strangled him?' 'No,' I


said, 'it has not strangled him, but has wounded him seriously.' 'Oh,'


she said, 'in that case he must be shot this minute!' 'Oh, no,' I


said, 'I won't agree to that. I shall try to cure him....' At that


moment Trésor began scratching at the door. I was about to go and open


it for him. 'Oh,' she said, 'what are you doing, why, it will bite us


all.' 'Upon my word,' I said, 'the poison does not act so quickly.'


'Oh, how can you?' she said. 'Why, you have taken leave of your


senses!' 'Nimfotchka,' I said, 'calm yourself, be reasonable....' But


she suddenly cried, 'Go away at once with your horrid dog.' 'I will


go away,' said I. 'At once,' she said, 'this second! Get along with


you,' she said, 'you villain, and never dare to let me set eyes on you


again. You may go mad yourself!' 'Very good,' said I, 'only let me


have a carriage for I am afraid to go home on foot now.' 'Give him the


carriage, the coach, the chaise, what he likes, only let him be gone


quickly. Oh, what eyes! Oh, what eyes he has!' and with those words


she whisked out of the room and gave a maid who met her a slap in the


face--and I heard her in hysterics again.

"And you may not believe me, gentlemen, but that very day I broke off


all acquaintance with Nimfodora Semyonovna; on mature consideration of


everything, I am bound to add that for that circumstance, too, I shall


owe a debt of gratitude to my friend Trésor to the hour of my death.

"Well, I had the carriage brought round, put my Trésor in and drove


home. When I got home I looked him over and washed his wounds, and


thought I would take him next day as soon as it was light to the wise


man in the Yefremovsky district. And this wise man was an old peasant,


a wonderful man: he would whisper over some water--and some people


made out that he dropped some snake spittle into it--would give it as


a draught, and the trouble would be gone completely. I thought, by the


way, I would be bled myself at Yefremovo: it's a good thing as a


precaution against fright, only not from the arm, of course, but from


the falcon."

"What place is that, the falcon?" Mr. Finoplentov asked with demure


curiosity.

"Why, don't you know? It is here on the fist near the thumb, the spot


on which one shakes the snuff from one's horn, just here. It's the


best place for letting blood. For only consider, the blood from the


arm comes from the vein, but here it is of no consequence. The doctors


don't know that and don't understand it, how should they, the idle


drones, the wretched Germans? It's the blacksmiths who go in for it.


And aren't they skilful! They get a chisel, give it a tap with a


hammer and it's done! ... Well, while I was thinking it over, it got


quite dark, it was time for bed. I went to bed and Trésor, of course,


was close by me. But whether it was from the fight, from the


stuffiness, from the fleas or from my thoughts, I could not get to


sleep, do what I would! I can't describe the depression that came over


me; I sipped water, opened the window and played the 'Kamarinsky' with


Italian variations on the guitar.... No good! I felt I must get out of


the room--and that was all about it! I made up my mind at last: I took


my pillow, my quilt and my sheet and made my way across the garden to


the hayloft; and settled myself there. And how pleasant I felt in


there, gentlemen: it was a still, still night, only from time to time


a breath of air like a woman's hand caressed one's cheek; it was so


fresh; the hay smelt as sweet as tea; among the apple trees' the


grasshoppers were chirping; then all at once came the cry of the


quail--and one felt that he, too, the rogue, was happy, sitting in the


dew with his little lady.... And the sky was magnificent.... The stars


were glowing, or a cloud would float by, white as cotton wool,


scarcely moving...."

At this point in the story Skvorevitch sneezed; Kinarevitch sneezed,


too--he never failed in anything to follow his colleague's example.


Anton Stepanitch looked approvingly at both of them.

"Well," Porfiry Kapitonitch went on, "well, so I lay there and again


could not go to sleep. I fell to musing, and what I thought of most


was the strangeness of it all: how correctly Prohoritch had explained


it as a warning and I wondered why it was to me such marvels had


happened.... I marvelled--particularly because I could make nothing of


it--and Trésor kept whining, as he twisted round in the hay; his


wounds hurt him. And I will tell you what else prevented me from


sleeping--you won't believe it--the moon. It was just facing me, so


big and round and yellow and flat, and it seemed to me that it was


staring at me, it really did. And so insolently, so persistently.... I


put out my tongue at it at last, I really did. What are you so


inquisitive about? I thought. I turned away from it and it seemed to


be creeping into my ear and shining on the back of my head, so that I


felt caught in it as in rain; I opened my eyes and every blade of


grass, every paltry being in the hay, the most flimsy spider's web--all


were standing out as though they were chiselled! As though asking


to be looked at! There was no help for it: I leaned my head on my hand


and began gazing. And I couldn't help it: would you believe it: my


eyes bulged out like a hare's; they opened so wide--as though they did


not know what sleep was! It seemed as though I would devour it all


with my eyes. The doors of the barn were wide open; I could see for


four miles into the open country, distinctly and yet not, as it always


is on a moonlight night. I gazed and gazed without blinking.... And


all at once it seemed as though something were moving, far, far


away ... like a faint glimmer in the distance. A little time passed:


again the shadow stirred--now a little nearer; then again nearer still.


'What can it be?' I wondered, 'a hare, no,' I thought, 'it is bigger


than a hare and its action is not the same.' I looked, and again the


shadow came in sight, and was moving across the grazing meadow (the


meadow looked whitish in the moonlight) like a big blur; it was clear


that it was a wild animal, a fox or a wolf. My heart seemed to stand


still ... though one might wonder why I was frightened. All sorts of


wild creatures run about the fields at night. But curiosity was even


stronger than fear. I sat up, I opened my eyes wide and I turned cold


all over. I felt frozen, as though I had been thrust into the ice, up


to my ears, and why? The Lord only knows! And I saw the shadow growing


and growing, so it was running straight towards the barn. And I began


to realise that it certainly was a wild beast, big, with a huge


head.... He flew like a whirlwind, like a bullet.... Holy saints! what


was it? He stopped all at once, as though he scented something.... Why


it was ... the same mad dog! It was ... it was! Heavens! And I could


not stir, I could not cry out.... It darted to the doors, with


glittering eyes, howled and dashed through the hay straight at me!

"Out of the hay like a lion leapt my Trésor, here he was. They hung on


to each other's jaws and rolled on the ground. What happened then I


don't remember; all I remember is that I flew headlong between them


into the garden, and home and into my bedroom and almost crept under


the bed--why not make a clean breast of it? And what leaps, what


bounds I took in the garden! The prémiere danseuse dancing


before the Emperor Napoleon on his nameday couldn't have kept pace


with me. However, when I had recovered myself a little, I roused the


whole household; I ordered them all to arm themselves, I myself took a


sword and a revolver (I bought that revolver, I must own, soon after


the emancipation, you know, in case anything should happen, but it


turned out the man who sold it was such a rogue--it would be sure to


miss fire twice out of every three shots). Well, I took all this and


so we went, a regular horde of us with stakes and lanterns, to the


barn. We approached and called--there was not a sound; at last we went


into the barn.... And what did we see? My poor Trésor lay dead with


his throat torn open, and of the other, the damned brute, not a trace


to be seen!

"And then, gentlemen, I howled like a calf and I am not ashamed to say


so; I stooped down to the friend who had saved my life twice over and


kissed his head, again and again. And I stayed in that position until


my old housekeeper, Praskovya (she, too, had run in at the uproar),


brought me to my senses. 'How can you, Porfiry Kapitonitch,' she said,


'distress yourself so about a dog? And you will catch cold, too, God


forbid.' (I was very lightly clad.) 'And if this dog has lost his life


in saving you, it may be taken as a great blessing vouchsafed him!'

"Though I did not agree with Praskovya, I went home. And next day a


soldier of the garrison shot the mad dog. And it must have been its


destined end: it was the first time in his life that the soldier had


fired a gun, though he had a medal for service in 1812. So this was


the supernatural incident that happened to me."

The speaker ceased and began filling his pipe. We all looked at each


other in amazement.

"Well, perhaps, you have led a very virtuous life," Mr. Finoplentov


began, "so in recompense..."

But he broke off at that word, for he saw Porfiry Kapitonitch's cheeks


grow round and flushed while his eyes screwed up--he was on the point


of breaking into a guffaw.

"But if one admits the possibility of the supernatural, the


possibility of its participation in everyday life, so to say," Anton


Stepanitch began again, "then allow me to ask, what becomes of common


sense?"

None of us found anything to say in reply and we remained in


perplexity as before.

1866.


THE WATCH

AN OLD MAN'S STORY

I

I will tell you my adventures with a watch. It is a curious story.

It happened at the very beginning of this century, in 1801. I had just


reached my sixteenth year. I was living at Ryazan in a little wooden


house not far from the bank of the river Oka with my father, my aunt


and my cousin; my mother I do not remember; she died three years after


her marriage; my father had no other children. His name was Porfiry


Petrovitch. He was a quiet man, sickly and unattractive in appearance;


he was employed in some sort of legal and--other--business. In old


days such were called attorneys, sharpers, nettle-seeds; he called


himself a lawyer. Our domestic life was presided over by his sister,


my aunt, an old maiden lady of fifty; my father, too, had passed his


fourth decade. My aunt was very pious, or, to speak bluntly, she was a


canting hypocrite and a chattering magpie, who poked her nose into


everything; and, indeed, she had not a kind heart like my father. We


were not badly off, but had nothing to spare. My father had a brother


called Yegor; but he had been sent to Siberia in the year 1797 for


some "seditious acts and Jacobin tendencies" (those were the words of


the accusation).

Yegor's son David, my cousin, was left on my father's hands and lived


with us. He was only one year older than I; but I respected him and


obeyed him as though he were quite grown up. He was a sensible fellow


with character; in appearance, thick-set and broad-shouldered with a


square face covered with freckles, with red hair, small grey eyes,


thick lips, a short nose, and short fingers--a sturdy lad, in


fact--and strong for his age! My aunt could not endure him; my father


was positively afraid of him ... or perhaps he felt himself to blame


towards him. There was a rumour that, if my father had not given his


brother away, David's father would not have been sent to Siberia. We


were both at the high school and in the same class and both fairly


high up in it; I was, indeed, a little better at my lessons than


David. I had a good memory but boys--as we all know!--do not think


much of such superiority, and David remained my leader.

II

My name--you know--is Alexey. I was born on the seventh of March and


my name-day is the seventeenth. In accordance with the old-fashioned


custom, I was given the name of the saint whose festival fell on the


tenth day after my birth. My godfather was a certain Anastasy


Anastasyevitch Putchkov, or more exactly Nastasey Nastasyeitch, for


that was what everyone called him. He was a terribly shifty,


pettifogging knave and bribe-taker--a thoroughly bad man; he had been


turned out of the provincial treasury and had had to stand his trial


on more than one occasion; he was often of use to my father.... They


used to "do business" together. In appearance he was a round, podgy


figure; and his face was like a fox's with a nose like an owl's. His


eyes were brown, bright, also like a fox's, and he was always moving


them, those eyes, to right and to left, and he twitched his nose, too,


as though he were sniffing the air. He wore shoes without heels, and


wore powder every day, which was looked upon as very exceptional in


the provinces. He used to declare that he could not go without powder


as he had to associate with generals and their ladies. Well, my


name-day had come. Nastasey Nastasyeitch came to the house and said:

"I have never made you a present up to now, godson, but to make up for


that, look what a fine thing I have brought you to-day."

And he took out of his pocket a silver watch, a regular turnip, with a


rose tree engraved on the face and a brass chain. I was overwhelmed


with delight, while my aunt, Pelageya Petrovna, shouted at the top of


her voice:

"Kiss his hand, kiss his hand, dirty brat!"

I proceeded to kiss my godfather's hand, while my aunt went piping on:

"Oh, Nastasey Nastasyeitch! Why do you spoil him like this? How can he


take care of a watch? He will be sure to drop it, break it, or spoil


it."

My father walked in, looked at the watch, thanked Nastasey


Nastasyeitch--somewhat carelessly, and invited him to his study. And I


heard my father say, as though to himself:

"If you think to get off with that, my man...." But I could not


stay still. I put on the watch and rushed headlong to show my present


to David.

III

David took the watch, opened it and examined it attentively. He had


great mechanical ability; he liked having to do with iron, copper, and


metals of all sorts; he had provided himself with various instruments,


and it was nothing for him to mend or even to make a screw, a key or


anything of that kind.

David turned the watch about in his hands and muttering through his


teeth (he was not talkative as a rule):

"Oh ... poor ..." added, "where did you get it?"

I told him that my godfather had given it me.

David turned his little grey eyes upon me:

"Nastasey?"

"Yes, Nastasey Nastasyeitch."

David laid the watch on the table and walked away without a word.

"Do you like it?" I asked.

"Well, it isn't that.... But if I were you, I would not take any sort


of present from Nastasey."

"Why?"

"Because he is a contemptible person; and you ought not to be under an


obligation to a contemptible person. And to say thank you to him, too.


I suppose you kissed his hand?"

"Yes, Aunt made me."

David grinned--a peculiar grin--to himself. That was his way. He never


laughed aloud; he considered laughter a sign of feebleness.

David's words, his silent grin, wounded me deeply. "So he inwardly


despises me," I thought. "So I, too, am contemptible in his eyes. He


would never have stooped to this himself! He would not have accepted


presents from Nastasey. But what am I to do now?"

Give back the watch? Impossible!

I did try to talk to David, to ask his advice. He told me that he


never gave advice to anyone and that I had better do as I thought


best. As I thought best!! I remember I did not sleep all night


afterwards: I was in agonies of indecision. I was sorry to lose the


watch--I had laid it on the little table beside my bed; its ticking


was so pleasant and amusing ... but to feel that David despised me


(yes, it was useless to deceive myself, he did despise me) ... that


seemed to me unbearable. Towards morning a determination had taken


shape in me ... I wept, it is true--but I fell asleep upon it, and as


soon as I woke up, I dressed in haste and ran out into the street. I


had made up my mind to give my watch to the first poor person I met.

IV

I had not run far from home when I hit upon what I was looking for. I


came across a barelegged boy of ten, a ragged urchin, who was often


hanging about near our house. I dashed up to him at once and, without


giving him or myself time to recover, offered him my watch.

The boy stared at me round-eyed, put one hand before his mouth, as


though he were afraid of being scalded--and held out the other.

"Take it, take it," I muttered, "it's mine, I give it you, you can


sell it, and buy yourself ... something you want.... Good-bye."

I thrust the watch into his hand--and went home at a gallop. Stopping


for a moment at the door of our common bedroom to recover my breath, I


went up to David who had just finished dressing and was combing his


hair.

"Do you know what, David?" I said in as unconcerned a tone as I could,


"I have given away Nastasey's watch."

David looked at me and passed the brush over his temples.

"Yes," I added in the same businesslike voice, "I have given it away.


There is a very poor boy, a beggar, you know, so I have given it to


him."

David put down the brush on the washing-stand.

"He can buy something useful," I went on, "with the money he can get


for it. Anyway, he will get something for it."

I paused.

"Well," David said at last, "that's a good thing," and he went off to


the schoolroom. I followed him.

"And if they ask you what you have done with it?" he said, turning to


me.

"I shall tell them I've lost it," I answered carelessly.

No more was said about the watch between us that day; but I had the


feeling that David not only approved of what I had done but ... was to


some extent surprised by it. He really was!

V

Two days more passed. It happened that no one in the house thought of


the watch. My father was taken up with a very serious unpleasantness


with one of his clients; he had no attention to spare for me or my


watch. I, on the other hand, thought of it without ceasing! Even the


approval ... the presumed approval of David did not quite comfort me.


He did not show it in any special way: the only thing he said, and


that casually, was that he hadn't expected such recklessness of me.


Certainly I was a loser by my sacrifice: it was not counter-balanced


by the gratification afforded me by my vanity.

And what is more, as ill-luck would have it, another schoolfellow of


ours, the son of the town doctor, must needs turn up and begin


boasting of a new watch, a present from his grandmother, and not even


a silver, but a pinch-back one....

I could not bear it, at last, and, without a word to anyone, slipped


out of the house and proceeded to hunt for the beggar boy to whom I


had given my watch.

I soon found him; he was playing knucklebones in the churchyard with


some other boys.

I called him aside--and, breathless and stammering, told him that my


family were angry with me for having given away the watch--and that if


he would consent to give it back to me I would gladly pay him for


it.... To be ready for any emergency, I had brought with me an


old-fashioned rouble of the reign of Elizabeth, which represented the


whole of my fortune.

"But I haven't got it, your watch," answered the boy in an angry and


tearful voice; "my father saw it and took it away from me; and he was


for thrashing me, too. 'You must have stolen it from somewhere,' he


said. 'What fool is going to make you a present of a watch?'"

"And who is your father?"

"My father? Trofimitch."

"But what is he? What's his trade?"

"He is an old soldier, a sergeant. And he has no trade at all. He


mends old shoes, he re-soles them. That's all his trade. That's what


he lives by."

"Where do you live? Take me to him."

"To be sure I will. You tell my father that you gave me the watch. For


he keeps pitching into me, and calling me a thief! And my mother, too.


'Who is it you are taking after,' she says, 'to be a thief?'"

I set off with the boy to his home. They lived in a smoky hut in the


back-yard of a factory, which had long ago been burnt down and not


rebuilt. We found both Trofimitch and his wife at home. The discharged


sergeant was a tall old man, erect and sinewy, with yellowish grey


whiskers, an unshaven chin and a perfect network of wrinkles on his


cheeks and forehead. His wife looked older than he. Her red eyes,


which looked buried in her unhealthily puffy face, kept blinking


dejectedly. Some sort of dark rags hung about them by way of clothes.

I explained to Trofimitch what I wanted and why I had come. He


listened to me in silence without once winking or moving from me his


stupid and strained--typically soldierly--eyes.

"Whims and fancies!" he brought out at last in a husky, toothless


bass. "Is that the way gentlemen behave? And if Petka really did not


steal the watch--then I'll give him one for that! To teach him not to


play the fool with little gentlemen! And if he did steal it, then I


would give it to him in a very different style, whack, whack, whack!


With the flat of a sword; in horseguard's fashion! No need to think


twice about it! What's the meaning of it? Eh? Go for them with sabres!


Here's a nice business! Tfoo!"

This last interjection Trofimitch pronounced in a falsetto. He was


obviously perplexed.

"If you are willing to restore the watch to me," I explained to him--I


did not dare to address him familiarly in spite of his being a


soldier--"I will with pleasure pay you this rouble here. The watch is


not worth more, I imagine."

"Well!" growled Trofimitch, still amazed and, from old habit,


devouring me with his eyes as though I were his superior officer.


"It's a queer business, eh? Well, there it is, no understanding it.


Ulyana, hold your tongue!" he snapped out at his wife who was opening


her mouth. "Here's the watch," he added, opening the table drawer; "if


it really is yours, take it by all means; but what's the rouble for?


Eh?"

"Take the rouble, Trofimitch, you senseless man," wailed his wife. "You


have gone crazy in your old age! We have not a half-rouble between us,


and then you stand on your dignity! It was no good their cutting off


your pigtail, you are a regular old woman just the same! How can you


go on like that--when you know nothing about it? ... Take the money,


if you have a fancy to give back the watch!"

"Ulyana, hold your tongue, you dirty slut!" Trofimitch repeated.


"Whoever heard of such a thing, talking away? Eh? The husband is the


head; and yet she talks! Petka, don't budge, I'll kill you.... Here's


the watch!"

Trofimitch held out the watch to me, but did not let go of it.

He pondered, looked down, then fixed the same intent, stupid stare


upon me. Then all at once bawled at the top of his voice:

"Where is it? Where's your rouble?"

"Here it is, here it is," I responded hurriedly and I snatched the


coin out of my pocket.

But he did not take it, he still stared at me. I laid the rouble on


the table. He suddenly brushed it into the drawer, thrust the watch


into my hand and wheeling to the left with a loud stamp, he hissed at


his wife and his son:

"Get along, you low wretches!"

Ulyana muttered something, but I had already dashed out into the yard


and into the street. Thrusting the watch to the very bottom of my


pocket and clutching it tightly in my hand, I hurried home.

VI

I had regained the possession of my watch but it afforded me no


satisfaction whatever. I did not venture to wear it, it was above all


necessary to conceal from David what I had done. What would he think


of me, of my lack of will? I could not even lock up the luckless watch


in a drawer: we had all our drawers in common. I had to hide it,


sometimes on the top of the cupboard, sometimes under my mattress,


sometimes behind the stove.... And yet I did not succeed in


hoodwinking David.

One day I took the watch from under a plank in the floor of our room


and proceeded to rub the silver case with an old chamois leather


glove. David had gone off somewhere in the town; I did not at all


expect him to be back quickly.... Suddenly he was in the doorway.

I was so overcome that I almost dropped the watch, and, utterly


disconcerted, my face painfully flushing crimson, I fell to fumbling


about my waistcoat with it, unable to find my pocket.

David looked at me and, as usual, smiled without speaking.

"What's the matter?" he brought out at last. "You imagined I didn't


know you had your watch again? I saw it the very day you brought it


back."

"I assure you," I began, almost on the point of tears....

David shrugged his shoulders.

"The watch is yours, you are free to do what you like with it."

Saying these cruel words, he went out.

I was overwhelmed with despair. This time there could be no doubt!


David certainly despised me.

I could not leave it so.

"I will show him," I thought, clenching my teeth, and at once with a


firm step I went into the passage, found our page-boy, Yushka, and


presented him with the watch!

Yushka would have refused it, but I declared that if he did not take


the watch from me I would smash it that very minute, trample it under


foot, break it to bits and throw it in the cesspool! He thought a


moment, giggled, and took the watch. I went back to our room and


seeing David reading there, I told him what I had done.

David did not take his eyes off the page and, again shrugging his


shoulder and smiling to himself, repeated that the watch was mine and


that I was free to do what I liked with it.

But it seemed to me that he already despised me a little less.

I was fully persuaded that I should never again expose myself to the


reproach of weakness of character, for the watch, the disgusting


present from my disgusting godfather, had suddenly grown so


distasteful to me that I was quite incapable of understanding how I


could have regretted it, how I could have begged for it back from the


wretched Trofimitch, who had, moreover, the right to think that he had


treated me with generosity.

Several days passed.... I remember that on one of them the great news


reached our town that the Emperor Paul was dead and his son Alexandr,


of whose graciousness and humanity there were such favourable rumours,


had ascended the throne. This news excited David intensely: the


possibility of seeing--of shortly seeing--his father occurred to him


at once. My father was delighted, too.

"They will bring back all the exiles from Siberia now and I expect


brother Yegor will not be forgotten," he kept repeating, rubbing his


hands, coughing and, at the same time, seeming rather nervous.

David and I at once gave up working and going to the high school; we


did not even go for walks but sat in a corner counting and reckoning


in how many months, in how many weeks, in how many days "brother


Yegor" ought to come back and where to write to him and how to go to


meet him and in what way we should begin to live afterwards. "Brother


Yegor" was an architect: David and I decided that he ought to settle


in Moscow and there build big schools for poor people and we would go


to be his assistants. The watch, of course, we had completely


forgotten; besides, David had new cares.... Of them I will speak


later, but the watch was destined to remind us of its existence again.

VII

One morning we had only just finished lunch--I was sitting alone by


the window thinking of my uncle's release--outside there was the steam


and glitter of an April thaw--when all at once my aunt, Pelageya


Petrovna, walked into the room. She was at all times restless and


fidgetty, she spoke in a shrill voice and was always waving her arms


about; on this occasion she simply pounced on me.

"Go along, go to your father at once, sir!" she snapped out. "What


pranks have you been up to, you shameless boy! You will catch it, both


of you. Nastasey Nastasyeitch has shown up all your tricks! Go along,


your father wants you.... Go along this very minute."

Understanding nothing, I followed my aunt, and, as I crossed the


threshold of the drawing-room, I saw my father, striding up and down


and ruffling up his hair, Yushka in tears by the door and, sitting on


a chair in the corner, my godfather, Nastasey Nastasyeitch, with an


expression of peculiar malignancy in his distended nostrils and in his


fiery, slanting eyes.

My father swooped down upon me as soon as I walked in.

"Did you give your watch to Yushka? Tell me!"

I glanced at Yushka.

"Tell me," repeated my father, stamping.

"Yes," I answered, and immediately received a stinging slap in the


face, which afforded my aunt great satisfaction. I heard her gulp, as


though she had swallowed some hot tea. From me my father ran to


Yushka.

"And you, you rascal, ought not to have dared to accept such a


present," he said, pulling him by the hair: "and you sold it, too, you


good-for-nothing boy!"

Yushka, as I learned later had, in the simplicity of his heart, taken


my watch to a neighbouring watchmaker's. The watchmaker had displayed


it in his shop-window; Nastasey Nastasyeitch had seen it, as he passed


by, bought it and brought it along with him.

However, my ordeal and Yushka's did not last long: my father gasped


for breath, and coughed till he choked; indeed, it was not in his


character to be angry long.

"Brother, Porfiry Petrovitch," observed my aunt, as soon as she


noticed not without regret that my father's anger had, so to speak,


flickered out, "don't you worry yourself further: it's not worth


dirtying your hands over. I tell you what I suggest: with the consent


of our honoured friend, Nastasey Nastasyeitch, in consideration of the


base ingratitude of your son--I will take charge of the watch; and


since he has shown by his conduct that he is not worthy to wear it and


does not even understand its value, I will present it in your name to


a person who will be very sensible of your kindness."

"Whom do you mean?" asked my father.

"To Hrisanf Lukitch," my aunt articulated, with slight hesitation.

"To Hrisashka?" asked my father, and with a wave of his hand, he


added: "It's all one to me. You can throw it in the stove, if you


like."

He buttoned up his open vest and went out, writhing from his coughing.

"And you, my good friend, do you agree?" said my aunt, addressing


Nastasey Nastasyeitch.

"I am quite agreeable," responded the latter. During the whole


proceedings he had not stirred and only snorting stealthily and


stealthily rubbing the ends of his fingers, had fixed his foxy eyes by


turns on me, on my father, and on Yushka. We afforded him real


gratification!

My aunt's suggestion revolted me to the depths of my soul. It was not


that I regretted the watch; but the person to whom she proposed to


present it was absolutely hateful to me. This Hrisanf Lukitch (his


surname was Trankvillitatin), a stalwart, robust, lanky divinity


student, was in the habit of coming to our house--goodness knows what


for!--to help the children with their lessons, my aunt


asserted; but he could not help us with our lessons because he had


never learnt anything himself and was as stupid as a horse. He was


rather like a horse altogether: he thudded with his feet as though


they had been hoofs, did not laugh but neighed, opening his jaws till


you could see right down his throat--and he had a long face, a hooked


nose and big, flat jaw-bones; he wore a shaggy frieze, full-skirted


coat, and smelt of raw meat. My aunt idolised him and called him a


good-looking man, a cavalier and even a grenadier. He had a habit of


tapping children on the forehead with the nails of his long fingers,


hard as stones (he used to do it to me when I was younger), and as he


tapped he would chuckle and say with surprise: "How your head


resounds, it must be empty." And this lout was to possess my


watch!--No, indeed, I determined in my own mind as I ran out of the


drawing-room and flung myself on my bed, while my cheek glowed crimson


from the slap I had received and my heart, too, was aglow with the


bitterness of the insult and the thirst for revenge--no, indeed! I


would not allow that cursed Hrisashka to jeer at me.... He would put


on the watch, let the chain hang over his stomach, would neigh with


delight; no, indeed!

"Quite so, but how was it to be done, how to prevent it?"

I determined to steal the watch from my aunt.

VIII

Luckily Trankvillitatin was away from the town at the time: he could


not come to us before the next day; I must take advantage of the


night! My aunt did not lock her bedroom door and, indeed, none of the


keys in the house would turn in the locks; but where would she put the


watch, where would she hide it? She kept it in her pocket till the


evening and even took it out and looked at it more than once; but at


night--where would it be at night?--Well, that was just my work to


find out, I thought, shaking my fists.

I was burning with boldness and terror and joy at the thought of the


approaching crime. I was continually nodding to myself; I knitted my


brows. I whispered: "Wait a bit!" I threatened someone, I was wicked,


I was dangerous ... and I avoided David!--no one, not even he, must


have the slightest suspicion of what I meant to do....

I would act alone and alone I would answer for it!

Slowly the day lagged by, then the evening, at last the night came. I


did nothing; I even tried not to move: one thought was stuck in my


head like a nail. At dinner my father, who was, as I have said,


naturally gentle, and who was a little ashamed of his harshness--boys


of sixteen are not slapped in the face--tried to be affectionate to


me; but I rejected his overtures, not from slowness to forgive, as he


imagined at the time, but simply that I was afraid of my feelings


getting the better of me; I wanted to preserve untouched all the heat


of my vengeance, all the hardness of unalterable determination. I went


to bed very early; but of course I did not sleep and did not even shut


my eyes, but on the contrary opened them wide, though I did pull the


quilt over my head. I did not consider beforehand how to act. I had no


plan of any kind; I only waited till everything should be quiet in the


house. I only took one step: I did not remove my stockings. My aunt's


room was on the second floor. One had to pass through the dining-room


and the hall, go up the stairs, pass along a little passage and


there ... on the right was the door! I must not on any account take


with me a candle or a lantern; in the corner of my aunt's room a little


lamp was always burning before the ikon shrine; I knew that. So I


should be able to see. I still lay with staring eyes and my mouth open


and parched; the blood was throbbing in my temples, in my ears, in my


throat, in my back, all over me! I waited ... but it seemed as though


some demon were mocking me; time passed and passed but still silence


did not reign.

IX

Never, I thought, had David been so late getting to sleep.... David,


the silent David, even began talking to me! Never had they gone on so


long banging, talking, walking about the house! And what could they be


talking about? I wondered; as though they had not had the whole day to


talk in! Sounds outside persisted, too; first a dog barked on a


shrill, obstinate note; then a drunken peasant was making an uproar


somewhere and would not be pacified; then gates kept creaking; then a


wretched cart on racketty wheels kept passing and passing and seeming


as though it would never pass! However, these sounds did not worry me:


on the contrary, I was glad of them; they seemed to distract my


attention. But now at last it seemed as though all were tranquil. Only


the pendulum of our old clock ticked gravely and drowsily in the


dining-room and there was an even drawn-out sound like the hard


breathing of people asleep. I was on the point of getting up, then


again something rustled ... then suddenly sighed, something soft fell


down ... and a whisper glided along the walls.

Or was there nothing of the sort--and was it only imagination mocking


me?

At last all was still. It was the very heart, the very dead of night.


The time had come! Chill with anticipation, I threw off the


bedclothes, let my feet down to the floor, stood up ... one step; a


second.... I stole along, my feet, heavy as though they did not belong


to me, trod feebly and uncertainly. Stay! what was that sound? Someone


sawing, somewhere, or scraping ... or sighing? I listened ... I felt my


cheeks twitching and cold watery tears came into my eyes. Nothing! ...


I stole on again. It was dark but I knew the way. All at once I


stumbled against a chair.... What a bang and how it hurt! It hit me


just on my leg.... I stood stock still. Well, did that wake them? Ah!


here goes! Suddenly I felt bold and even spiteful. On! On! Now the


dining-room was crossed, then the door was groped for and opened at


one swing. The cursed hinge squeaked, bother it! Then I went up the


stairs, one! two! one! two! A step creaked under my foot; I looked at


it spitefully, just as though I could see it. Then I stretched for the


handle of another door. This one made not the slightest sound! It flew


open so easily, as though to say, "Pray walk in." ... And now I was in


the corridor!

In the corridor there was a little window high up under the ceiling, a


faint light filtered in through the dark panes. And in that glimmer of


light I could see our little errand girl lying on the floor on a mat,


both arms behind her tousled head; she was sound asleep, breathing


rapidly and the fatal door was just behind her head. I stepped across


the mat, across the girl ... who opened that door? ... I don't know,


but there I was in my aunt's room. There was the little lamp in one


corner and the bed in the other and my aunt in her cap and night


jacket on the bed with her face towards me. She was asleep, she did


not stir, I could not even hear her breathing. The flame of the little


lamp softly flickered, stirred by the draught of fresh air, and


shadows stirred all over the room, even over the motionless wax-like


yellow face of my aunt....

And there was the watch! It was hanging on a little embroidered


cushion on the wall behind the bed. What luck, only think of it!


Nothing to delay me! But whose steps were those, soft and rapid behind


my back? Oh! no! it was my heart beating! ... I moved my legs


forward.... Good God! something round and rather large pushed against


me below my knee, once and again! I was ready to scream, I was ready


to drop with horror.... A striped cat, our own cat, was standing


before me arching his back and wagging his tail. Then he leapt on the


bed--softly and heavily--turned round and sat without purring, exactly


like a judge; he sat and looked at me with his golden pupils. "Puss,


puss," I whispered, hardly audibly. I bent across my aunt, I had


already snatched the watch. She suddenly sat up and opened her eyelids


wide.... Heavenly Father, what next? ... but her eyelids quivered and


closed and with a faint murmur her head sank on the pillow.

A minute later I was back again in my own room, in my own bed and the


watch was in my hands....

More lightly than a feather I flew back! I was a fine fellow, I was a


thief, I was a hero, I was gasping with delight, I was hot, I was


gleeful--I wanted to wake David at once to tell him all about it--and,


incredible as it sounds, I fell asleep and slept like the dead! At


last I opened my eyes.... It was light in the room, the sun had risen.


Luckily no one was awake yet. I jumped up as though I had been


scalded, woke David and told him all about it. He listened, smiled.


"Do you know what?" he said to me at last, "let's bury the silly watch


in the earth, so that it may never be seen again." I thought his idea


best of all. In a few minutes we were both dressed; we ran out into


the orchard behind our house and under an old apple tree in a deep


hole, hurriedly scooped out in the soft, springy earth with David's


big knife, my godfather's hated present was hidden forever, so that it


never got into the hands of the disgusting Trankvillitatin after all!


We stamped down the hole, strewed rubbish over it and, proud and


happy, unnoticed by anyone, went home again, got into our beds and


slept another hour or two--and such a light and blissful sleep!

X

You can imagine the uproar there was that morning, as soon as my aunt


woke up and missed the watch! Her piercing shriek is ringing in my


ears to this day. "Help! Robbed! Robbed!" she squealed, and alarmed


the whole household. She was furious, while David and I only smiled to


ourselves and sweet was our smile to us. "Everyone, everyone must be


well thrashed!" bawled my aunt. "The watch has been stolen from under


my head, from under my pillow!" We were prepared for anything, we


expected trouble.... But contrary to our expectations we did not get


into trouble at all. My father certainly did fume dreadfully at first,


he even talked of the police; but I suppose he was bored with the


enquiry of the day before and suddenly, to my aunt's indescribable


amazement, he flew out not against us but against her.

"You sicken me worse than a bitter radish, Pelageya Petrovna," he


shouted, "with your watch. I don't want to hear any more about it! It


can't be lost by magic, you say, but what's it to do with me? It may


be magic for all I care! Stolen from you? Well, good luck to it then!


What will Nastasey Nastasyeitch say? Damnation take him, your


Nastasyeitch! I get nothing but annoyances and unpleasantness from


him! Don't dare to worry me again! Do you hear?"

My father slammed the door and went off to his own room. David and I


did not at first understand the allusion in his last words; but


afterwards we found out that my father was just then violently


indignant with my godfather, who had done him out of a profitable job.


So my aunt was left looking a fool. She almost burst with vexation,


but there was no help for it. She had to confine herself to repeating


in a sharp whisper, twisting her mouth in my direction whenever she


passed me, "Thief, thief, robber, scoundrel." My aunt's reproaches


were a source of real enjoyment to me. It was very agreeable, too, as


I crossed the flower-garden, to let my eye with assumed indifference


glide over the very spot where the watch lay at rest under the


apple-tree; and if David were close at hand to exchange a meaning


grimace with him....

My aunt tried setting Trankvillitatin upon me; but I appealed to


David. He told the stalwart divinity student bluntly that he would rip


up his belly with a knife if he did not leave me alone....


Trankvillitatin was frightened; though, according to my aunt, he was a


grenadier and a cavalier he was not remarkable for valour. So passed


five weeks.... But do you imagine that the story of the watch ended


there? No, it did not; only to continue my story I must introduce a


new character; and to introduce that new character I must go back a


little.

XI

My father had for many years been on very friendly, even intimate


terms with a retired government clerk called Latkin, a lame little man


in poor circumstances with queer, timid manners, one of those


creatures of whom it is commonly said that they are crushed by God


Himself. Like my father and Nastasey, he was engaged in the humbler


class of legal work and acted as legal adviser and agent. But


possessing neither a presentable appearance nor the gift of words and


having little confidence in himself, he did not venture to act


independently but attached himself to my father. His handwriting was


"regular beadwork," he knew the law thoroughly and had mastered all


the intricacies of the jargon of petitions and legal documents. He had


managed various cases with my father and had shared with him gains and


losses and it seemed as though nothing could shake their friendship,


and yet it broke down in one day and forever. My father quarrelled


with his colleague for good. If Latkin had snatched a profitable job


from my father, after the fashion of Nastasey, who replaced him later


on, my father would have been no more indignant with him than with


Nastasey, probably less. But Latkin, under the influence of an


unexplained, incomprehensible feeling, envy, greed--or perhaps even a


momentary fit of honesty--"gave away" my father, betrayed him to their


common client, a wealthy young merchant, opening this careless young


man's eyes to a certain--well, piece of sharp practice, destined to


bring my father considerable profit. It was not the money loss,


however great--no--but the betrayal that wounded and infuriated my


father; he could not forgive treachery.

"So he sets himself up for a saint!" he repeated, trembling all over


with anger, his teeth chattering as though he were in a fever. I


happened to be in the room and was a witness of this ugly scene.


"Good. Amen, from today. It's all over between us. There's the ikon


and there's the door! Neither you in my house nor I in yours. You are


too honest for us. How can we keep company with you? But may you have


no house nor home!"

It was in vain that Latkin entreated my father and bowed down before


him; it was in vain that he tried to explain to him what filled his


own soul with painful perplexity. "You know it was with no sort of


profit to myself, Porfiry Petrovitch," he faltered: "why, I cut my own


throat!" My father remained implacable. Latkin never set foot in our


house again. Fate itself seemed determined to carry out my father's


last cruel words. Soon after the rupture (which took place two years


before the beginning of my story), Latkin's wife, who had, it is true,


been ill for a long time, died; his second daughter, a child three


years old, became deaf and dumb in one day from terror; a swarm of


bees had settled on her head; Latkin himself had an apoplectic stroke


and sank into extreme and hopeless poverty. How he struggled on, what


he lived upon--it is hard to imagine. He lived in a dilapidated hovel


at no great distance from our house. His elder daughter Raissa lived


with him and kept house, so far as that was possible. This Raissa is


the character whom I must now introduce into our story.

XII

When her father was on friendly terms with mine, we used to see her


continually. She would sit with us for hours at a time, either sewing,


or spinning with her delicate, rapid, clever fingers. She was a


well-made, rather thin girl, with intelligent brown eyes and a long,


white, oval face. She talked little but sensibly in a soft, musical


voice, barely opening her mouth and not showing her teeth. When she


laughed--which happened rarely and never lasted long--they were all


suddenly displayed, big and white as almonds. I remember her gait, too,


light, elastic, with a little skip at each step. It always seemed to me


that she was going down a flight of steps, even when she was walking on


level ground. She held herself erect with her arms folded tightly over


her bosom. And whatever she was doing, whatever she undertook, if she


were only threading a needle or ironing a petticoat--the effect was


always beautiful and somehow--you may not believe it--touching. Her


Christian name was Raissa, but we used to call her Black-lip: she had


on her upper lip a birthmark; a little dark-bluish spot, as though she


had been eating blackberries; but that did not spoil her: on the


contrary. She was just a year older than David. I cherished for her a


feeling akin to respect, but we were not great friends. But between


her and David a friendship had sprung up, a strange, unchildlike but


good friendship. They somehow suited each other.

Sometimes they did not exchange a word for hours together, but both


felt that they were happy and happy because they were together. I had


never met a girl like her, really. There was something attentive and


resolute about her, something honest and mournful and charming. I


never heard her say anything very intelligent, but I never heard her


say anything commonplace, and I have never seen more intelligent eyes.


After the rupture between her family and mine I saw her less


frequently: my father sternly forbade my visiting the Latkins, and she


did not appear in our house again. But I met her in the street, in


church and Black-lip always aroused in me the same feeling--respect


and even some wonder, rather than pity. She bore her misfortunes very


well indeed. "The girl is flint," even coarse-witted, Trankvillitatin


said about her once, but really she ought to have been pitied: her


face acquired a careworn, exhausted expression, her eyes were hollow


and sunken, a burden beyond her strength lay on her young shoulders.


David saw her much oftener than I did; he used to go to their house.


My father gave him up in despair: he knew that David would not obey


him, anyway. And from time to time Raissa would appear at the hurdle


fence of our garden which looked into a lane and there have an


interview with David; she did not come for the sake of conversation,


but told him of some new difficulty or trouble and asked his advice.


The paralysis that had attacked Latkin was of a rather peculiar kind.


His arms and legs had grown feeble, but he had not lost the use of


them, and his brain indeed worked perfectly; but his speech was


muddled and instead of one word he would pronounce another: one had to


guess what it was he wanted to say.... "Tchoo--tchoo--tchoo," he


would stammer with an effort--he began every sentence with


"Tchoo--tchoo--tchoo, some scissors, some scissors," ... and the word


scissors meant bread.... My father, he hated with all the strength left


him--he attributed all his misfortunes to my father's curse and called


him alternately the butcher and the diamond-merchant. "Tchoo, tchoo,


don't you dare to go to the butcher's, Vassilyevna." This was what he


called his daughter though his own name was Martinyan. Every day he


became more exacting; his needs increased.... And how were those needs


to be satisfied? Where could the money be found? Sorrow soon makes one


old: but it was horrible to hear some words on the lips of a girl of


seventeen.

XIII

I remember I happened to be present at a


conversation with David over the fence, on the


very day of her mother's death.

"Mother died this morning at daybreak," she


said, first looking round with her dark expressive eyes and then


fixing them on the ground.

"Cook undertook to get a coffin cheap but she's not to be trusted; she


may spend the money on drink, even. You might come and look after her,


Davidushka, she's afraid of you."

"I will come," answered David. "I will see to it. And how's your


father?"

"He cries; he says: 'you must spoil me, too.' Spoil must mean bury.


Now he has gone to sleep." Raissa suddenly gave a deep sigh. "Oh,


Davidushka, Davidushka!" She passed her half-clenched fist over her


forehead and her eyebrows, and the action was so bitter ... and as


sincere and beautiful as all her actions.

"You must take care of yourself, though," David observed; "you haven't


slept at all, I expect.... And what's the use of crying? It doesn't


help trouble."

"I have no time for crying," answered Raissa.

"That's a luxury for the rich, crying," observed David.

Raissa was going, but she turned back.

"The yellow shawl's being sold, you know; part of mother's dowry. They


are giving us twelve roubles; I think that is not much."

"It certainly is not much."

"We shouldn't sell it," Raissa said after a brief pause, "but you see


we must have money for the funeral."

"Of course you must. Only you mustn't spend money at random. Those


priests are awful! But I say, wait a minute. I'll come. Are you going?


I'll be with you soon. Goodbye, darling."

"Good-bye, Davidushka, darling."

"Mind now, don't cry!"

"As though I should cry! It's either cooking the dinner or crying. One


or the other."

"What! does she cook the dinner?" I said to David, as soon as Raissa


was out of hearing, "does she do the cooking herself?"

"Why, you heard that the cook has gone to buy a coffin."

"She cooks the dinner," I thought, "and her hands are always so clean


and her clothes so neat.... I should like to see her there at work in


the kitchen.... She is an extraordinary girl!"

I remember another conversation at the fence. That time Raissa brought


with her her little deaf and dumb sister. She was a pretty child with


immense, astonished-looking eyes and a perfect mass of dull, black


hair on her little, head (Raissa's hair, too, was black and hers, too,


was without lustre). Latkin had by then been struck down by paralysis.

"I really don't know what to do," Raissa began. "The doctor has


written a prescription. We must go to the chemist's; and our peasant


(Latkin had still one serf) has brought us wood from the village and a


goose. And the porter has taken it away, 'you are in debt to me,' he


said."

"Taken the goose?" asked David.

"No, not the goose. He says it is an old one; it is no good for


anything; he says that is why our peasant brought it us, but he is


taking the wood."

"But he has no right to," exclaimed David.

"He has no right to, but he has taken it. I went up to the garret,


there we have got a very, very old trunk. I began rummaging in it and


what do you think I found? Look!"

She took from under her kerchief a rather large field glass in a


copper setting, covered with morocco, yellow with age. David, as a


connoisseur of all sorts of instruments, seized upon it at once.

"It's English," he pronounced, putting it first to one eye and then to


the other. "A marine glass."

"And the glasses are perfect," Raissa went on. "I showed it to father;


he said, 'Take it and pawn it to the diamond-merchant'! What do you


think, would they give us anything for it? What do we want a telescope


for? To look at ourselves in the looking-glass and see what beauties


we are? But we haven't a looking-glass, unluckily."

And Raissa suddenly laughed aloud. Her sister, of course, could not


hear her. But most likely she felt the shaking of her body: she clung


to Raissa's hand and her little face worked with a look of terror as


she raised her big eyes to her sister and burst into tears.

"That's how she always is," said Raissa, "she


doesn't like one to laugh.

"Come, I won't, Lyubotchka, I won't," she added, nimbly squatting


on her heels beside the child and passing her fingers through her hair.


The laughter vanished from Raissa's face and her lips, the corners of


which twisted upwards in a particularly charming way, became motionless


again. The child was pacified. Raissa got up.

"So you will do what you can, about the glass I mean, Davidushka.


But I do regret the wood, and the goose, too, however old it may be."

"They would certainly give you ten roubles," said David, turning the


telescope in all directions. "I will buy it of you, what could be


better? And here, meanwhile, are fifteen kopecks for the chemist's....


Is that enough?"

"I'll borrow that from you," whispered Raissa, taking the fifteen


kopecks from him.

"What next? Perhaps you would like to pay interest? But you see I


have a pledge here, a very fine thing.... First-rate people, the English."

"They say we are going to war with them."

"No," answered David, "we are fighting the French now."

"Well, you know best. Take care of it, then. Good-bye, friends."

XIV

Here is another conversation that took place beside the same fence.


Raissa seemed more worried than usual.

"Five kopecks for a cabbage, and a tiny little one, too," she said,


propping her chin on her hand. "Isn't it dear? And I haven't had the


money for my sewing yet."

"Who owes it you?" asked David.

"Why, the merchant's wife who lives beyond the rampart."

"The fat woman who goes about in a green blouse?"

"Yes, yes."

"I say, she is fat! She can hardly breathe for fat. She positively


steams in church, and doesn't pay her debts!"

"She will pay, only when? And do you know, Davidushka, I have fresh


troubles. Father has taken it into his head to tell me his dreams--you


know he cannot say what he means: if he wants to say one word, it


comes out another. About food or any everyday thing we have got used


to it and understand; but it is not easy to understand the dreams even


of healthy people, and with him, it's awful! 'I am very happy,' he


says; 'I was walking about all among white birds to-day; and the Lord


God gave me a nosegay and in the nosegay was Andryusha with a little


knife,' he calls our Lyubotchka, Andryusha; 'now we shall both be


quite well,' he says. 'We need only one stroke with the little knife,


like this!' and he points to his throat. I don't understand him, but I


say, 'All right, dear, all right,' but he gets angry and tries to


explain what he means. He even bursts into tears."

"But you should have said something to him," I put in; "you should


have made up some lie."

"I can't tell lies," answered Raissa, and even flung up her hands.

And indeed she could not tell lies.

"There is no need to tell lies," observed David, "but there is no need


to kill yourself, either. No one will say thank you for it, you know."

Raissa looked at him intently.

"I wanted to ask you something, Davidushka; how ought I to spell


'while'?"

"What sort of 'while'?"

"Why, for instance: I hope you will live a long while."

"Spell: w-i-l-e."

"No," I put in, "w-h-i-l-e."

"Well, it does not matter. Spell it with an h, then! What does matter


is, that you should live a long while."

"I should like to write correctly," observed Raissa, and she flushed a


little.

When she flushed she was amazingly pretty at once.

"It may be of use.... How father wrote in his day ... wonderfully! He


taught me. Well, now he can hardly make out the letters."

"You only live, that's all I want," David repeated, dropping his voice


and not taking his eyes off her. Raissa glanced quickly at him and


flushed still more.

"You live and as for spelling, spell as you like.... Oh, the devil,


the witch is coming!" (David called my aunt the witch.) "What ill-luck


has brought her this way? You must go, darling."

Raissa glanced at David once more and ran away.

David talked to me of Raissa and her family very rarely and


unwillingly, especially from the time when he began to expect his


father's return. He thought of nothing but him and how we should live


together afterwards. He had a vivid memory of him and used to describe


him to me with particular pleasure.

"He is big and strong; he can lift three hundred-weight with one


hand.... When he shouted: 'Where's the lad?' he could be heard all


over the house. He's so jolly and kind ... and a brave man! Nobody can


intimidate him. We lived so happily together before we were ruined.


They say he has gone quite grey, and in old days his hair was as red


as mine. He was a strong man."

David would never admit that we might remain in Ryazan.

"You will go away," I observed, "but I shall stay."

"Nonsense, we shall take you with us."

"And how about my father?"

"You will cast off your father. You will be ruined if you don't."

"How so?"

David made me no answer but merely knitted his white brows.

"So when we go away with father," he began again, "he will get a good


situation and I shall marry."

"Well, that won't be just directly," I said.

"No, why not? I shall marry soon."

"You?"

"Yes, I; why not?"

"You haven't fixed on your wife, I suppose."

"Of course, I have."

"Who is she?"

David laughed.

"What a senseless fellow you are, really? Raissa, of course."

"Raissa!" I repeated in amazement; "you are joking!"

"I am not given to joking, and don't like it."

"Why, she is a year older than you are."

"What of it? but let's drop the subject."

"Let me ask one question," I said. "Does she know that you mean to


marry her?"

"Most likely."

"But haven't you declared your feelings?"

"What is there to declare? When the time comes I shall tell her. Come,


that's enough."

David got up and went out of the room. When I was alone, I pondered ...


and pondered ... and came to the conclusion that David would act


like a sensible and practical man; and indeed I felt flattered at the


thought of being the friend of such a practical man!

And Raissa in her everlasting black woollen dress suddenly seemed to


me charming and worthy of the most devoted love.

XV

David's father still did not come and did not even send a letter. It


had long been summer and June was drawing to its end. We were wearing


ourselves out in suspense.

Meanwhile there began to be rumours that Latkin had suddenly become


much worse, and that his family were likely to die of hunger or


else the house would fall in and crush them all under the roof.

David's face even looked changed and he became so ill-tempered and


surly that there was no going near him. He began to be more often


absent from home, too. I did not meet Raissa at all. From time to


time, I caught a glimpse of her in the distance, rapidly crossing the


street with her beautiful, light step, straight as an arrow, with her


arms crossed, with her dark, clever eyes under her long brows, with an


anxious expression on her pale, sweet face--that was all. My aunt with


the help of her Trankvillitatin pitched into me as before, and as


before reproachfully whispered in my ear: "You are a thief, sir, a


thief!" But I took no notice of her; and my father was very busy, and


occupied with his writing and driving all over the place and did not


want to hear anything.

One day, passing by the familiar apple-tree, more from habit than


anything I cast a furtive glance in the direction of the little spot I


knew so well, and it suddenly struck me that there was a change in the


surface of the soil that concealed our treasure ... as though there


were a little protuberance where there had been a hollow, and the bits


of rubbish were disarranged. "What does that mean?" I wondered. "Can


someone have guessed our secret and dug up the watch?"

I had to make certain with my own eyes. I felt, of course, the most


complete indifference in regard to the watch that lay rusting in the


bosom of the earth; but was not prepared to let anyone else make use


of it! And so next day I got up before dawn again and arming myself


with a knife went into the orchard, sought out the marked spot under


the apple-tree, began digging--and after digging a hole a yard deep


was forced to the conviction that the watch was gone, that someone had


got hold of it, taken it away, stolen it!

But who could have dug it up except David?

Who else knew where it was?

I filled in the hole and went back to the house. I felt deeply


injured.

"Supposing," I thought, "that David needs the watch to save his future


wife or her father from dying of starvation.... Say what you like, the


watch was worth something.... Why did he not come to me and say:


'Brother' (in David's place I should have certainly begun by saying


brother), 'brother, I need money; you have none, I know, but let me


make use of that watch which we buried together under the old


apple-tree? It is of no use to anyone and I shall be so grateful to


you, brother!' With what joy I should have consented. But to act


secretly, treacherously, not to trust his friend.... No! No passion, no


necessity would justify that!"

I repeat, I felt horribly injured. I began by a display of coldness


and sulking....

But David was not one of the sort to notice this and be upset by it.

I began dropping hints.

But David appeared not to understand my hints in the least!

I said before him how base in my eyes was the man who having a friend


and understanding all that was meant by that sacred sentiment


"friendship," was yet so devoid of generosity as to have recourse to


deception; as though it were possible to conceal anything.

As I uttered these last words I laughed scornfully.

But David did not turn a hair. At last I asked him straight out: "What


did he think, had our watch gone for some time after being buried in


the earth or had it stopped at once?"

He answered me: "The devil only knows! What a thing to wonder about!"

I did not know what to think! David evidently had something on his


mind ... but not the abduction of the watch. An unexpected incident


showed me his innocence.

XVI

One day I came home by a side lane which I usually avoided as the


house in which my enemy Trankvillitatin lodged was in it; but on this


occasion Fate itself led me that way. Passing the open window of an


eating-house, I suddenly heard the voice of our servant, Vassily, a


young man of free and easy manners, "a lazy fellow and a scamp," as my


father called him, but also a great conqueror of female hearts which


he charmed by his wit, his dancing and his playing on the tambourine.

"And what do you suppose they've been up to?" said Vassily, whom I


could not see but heard distinctly; he was, most likely, sitting close


by, near the window with a companion over the steaming tea--and as


often happens with people in a closed room, spoke in a loud voice


without suspecting that anyone passing in the street could hear every


word: "They buried it in the ground!"

"Nonsense!" muttered another voice.

"I tell you they did, our young gentlemen are extraordinary!


Especially that Davidka, he's a regular Aesop! I got up at daybreak


and went to the window.... I looked out and, what do you think! Our


two little dears were coming along the orchard bringing that same


watch and they dug a hole under the apple-tree and there they buried


it, as though it had been a baby! And they smoothed the earth over


afterwards, upon my soul they did, the young rakes!"

"Ah! plague take them," Vassily's companion commented. "Too well off,


I suppose. Well, did you dig up the watch?"

"To be sure I did. I have got it now. Only it won't do to show it for


a time. There's been no end of a fuss over it. Davidka stole it that


very night from under our old lady's back."

"Oh--oh!"

"I tell you, he did. He's a desperate fellow. So it won't do to show


it. But when the officers come down I shall sell it or stake it at


cards."

I didn't stay to hear more: I rushed headlong home and straight to


David.

"Brother!" I began, "brother, forgive me! I have wronged you! I


suspected you! I blamed you! You see how agitated I am! Forgive me!"

"What's the matter with you?" asked David. "Explain!"

"I suspected that you had dug up our watch under the apple-tree."

"The watch again! Why, isn't it there?"

"It's not there; I thought you had taken it, to help your friends. And


it was all Vassily."

I repeated to David all that I had overheard under the window of the


eating-house.

But how to describe my amazement! I had, of course, expected David to


be indignant, but I had not for a moment anticipated the effect it


produced on him! I had hardly finished my story when he flew into an


indescribable fury! David, who had always taken up a scornful attitude


to the whole "vulgar," as he called it, business of the watch; David,


who had more than once declared that it wasn't worth a rotten egg,


jumped up from his seat, got hot all over, ground his teeth and


clenched his fists. "We can't let this pass!" he said at last; "how


dare he take someone else's property? Wait a bit, I'll show him. I


won't let thieves off so easily!"

I confess I don't understand to this day what can have so infuriated


David. Whether he had been irritated before and Vassily's action had


simply poured oil on the flames, or whether my suspicions had wounded


him, I cannot say, but I had never seen him in such excitement. I


stood before him with my mouth open merely wondering how it was that


his breathing was so hard and laboured.

"What do you intend to do?" I asked at last.

"You shall see after dinner, when your father lies down. I'll find


this scoffer, I'll talk to him."

"Well," thought I, "I should not care to be in that scoffer's shoes!


What will happen? Merciful heavens?"

XVII.

This is what did happen:

As soon as that drowsy, stifling stillness prevailed, which to this


day lies like a feather bed on the Russian household and the Russian


people in the middle of the day after dinner is eaten, David went to


the servants' rooms (I followed on his heels with a sinking heart) and


called Vassily out. The latter was at first unwilling to come, but


ended by obeying and following us into the garden.

David stood close in front of him. Vassily was a whole head taller.

"Vassily Terentyev," my comrade began in a firm voice, "six weeks ago


you took from under this very apple-tree the watch we hid there. You


had no right to do so; it does not belong to you. Give it back at


once!"

Vassily was taken aback, but at once recovered himself.

"What watch? What are you talking about? God bless you! I have no


watch!"

"I know what I am saying and don't tell lies. You've got the watch,


give it back."

"I've not got your watch."

"Then how was it that in the eating-house, you..." I began, but David


stopped me.

"Vassily Terentyev!" he pronounced in a hollow, threatening voice, "we


know for a fact that you have the watch. You are told honourably to


give it back and if you don't..."

Vassily sniggered insolently.

"Then what will you do with me then? Eh?"

"What will we do? We will both fight with you till you beat us or we


beat you."

Vassily laughed.

"Fight? That's not for a gentleman! To fight with a servant!"

David suddenly caught hold of Vassily's waistcoat.

"But we are not going to fight you with our fists," he articulated,


grinding his teeth. "Understand that! I'll give you a knife and take


one myself.... And then we shall see who does for which? Alexey!" he


began commanding me, "run for my big knife, you know the one with the


bone handle--it's lying on the table and the other's in my pocket."

Vassily positively collapsed. David stood holding him by the


waistcoat.

"Mercy on us! ... Mercy on us, David Yegoritch!" he muttered; tears


actually came into his eyes. "What do you mean, what are you saying?


Let me go."

"I won't let you go. And we shall have no mercy on you! If you get


away from us today, we shall begin again to-morrow. Alyoshka, where's


the knife?"

"David Yegoritch," wailed Vassily, "don't commit murder.... What are


you doing! The watch ... I certainly ... I was joking. I'll give it to


you this minute. What a thing, to be sure! First you are going to slit


Hrisanf Lukitch's belly, then mine. Let me go, David Yegoritch....


Kindly take the watch. Only don't tell your papa."

David let go his hold of Vassily's waistcoat. I looked into his face:


certainly not only Vassily might have been frightened by it. It looked


so weary ... and cold ... and angry....

Vassily dashed into the house and promptly returned with the watch in


his hand. He gave it to David without a word and only on going back


into the house exclaimed aloud in the doorway:

"Tfoo! here's a go."

He still looked panic-stricken. David tossed his head and walked into


our room. Again I followed on his heels. "A Suvorov! He's a regular


Suvorov!" I thought to myself. In those days, in 1801, Suvorov was


our great national hero.

XVIII

David shut the door after him, put the watch on the table, folded his


arms and--oh, wonder!--laughed. Looking at him I laughed, too.

"What a wonderful performance!" he began. "We can't get rid of this


watch anyway. It's bewitched, really. And why was I so furious about


it?"

"Yes, why?" I repeated. "You ought to have let Vassily keep it...."

"Well, no," interposed David. "That's nonsense. But what are we to do


with it?"

"Yes! what?"

We both stared at the watch and pondered. Adorned with a chain of pale


blue beads (the luckless Vassily in his haste had not removed this


chain which belonged to him) it was calmly doing its work: ticking


somewhat irregularly, it is true, and slowly moving its copper minute


hand.

"Shall we bury it again? Or put it in the stove," I suggested at last.


"Or, I tell you what: shouldn't we take it to Latkin?"

"No," answered David. "That's not the thing. I know what: they have


set up a committee at the governor's office and are collecting


subscriptions for the benefit of the people of Kasimov. The town has


been burnt to ashes with all its churches. And I am told they take


anything, not only bread and money, but all sorts of things. Shall we


send the watch there?"

"Yes! yes!" I answered. "A splendid idea. But I thought that since


your friends are in want...."

"No, no; to the committee; the Latkins will manage without it. To the


committee."

"Well, if it is to be the committee, let it be. Only, I imagine, we


must write something to the governor."

David glanced at me. "Do you think so?"

"Yes, of course; there is no need to write much. But just a few


words."

"For instance?"

"For instance ... begin like this: 'Being' ... or better: 'Moved


by' ..."

"'Moved by' ... very good."

"Then we must say: 'herewith our mite' ..."

"'Mite' ... that's good, too. Well, take your pen, sit down and write,


fire away!"

"First I must make a rough copy," I observed.

"All right, a rough copy, only write, write.... And meanwhile I will


clean it with some whitening."

I took a sheet of paper, mended a pen, but before I had time to write


at the top of the sheet "To His Excellency, the illustrious Prince"


(our governer was at that time Prince X), I stopped, struck by the


extraordinary uproar ... which had suddenly arisen in the house. David


noticed the hubbub, too, and he, too, stopped, holding the watch in


his left hand and a rag with whitening in his right. We looked at each


other. What was that shrill cry. It was my aunt shrieking ... and


that? It was my father's voice, hoarse with anger. "The watch! the


watch!" bawled someone, surely Trankvillitatin. We heard the thud of


feet, the creak of the floor, a regular rabble running ... moving


straight upon us. I was numb with terror and David was as white as


chalk, but he looked proud as an eagle. "Vassily, the scoundrel, has


betrayed us," he whispered through his teeth. The door was flung wide


open, and my father in his dressing gown and without his cravat, my


aunt in her dressing jacket, Trankvillitatin, Vassily, Yushka, another


boy, and the cook, Agapit--all burst into the room.

"Scoundrels!" shouted my father, gasping for breath.... "At last we


have found you out!" And seeing the watch in David's hands: "Give it


here!" yelled my father, "give me the watch!"

But David, without uttering a word, dashed to the open window and


leapt out of it into the yard and then off into the street.

Accustomed to imitate my paragon in everything, I jumped out, too, and


ran after David....

"Catch them! Hold them!" we heard a medley of frantic shouts behind


us.

But we were already racing along the street bareheaded, David in


advance and I a few paces behind him, and behind us the clatter and


uproar of pursuit.

XIX

Many years have passed since the date of these events; I have


reflected over them more than once--and to this day I can no more


understand the cause of the fury that took possession of my father


(who had so lately been so sick of the watch that he had forbidden it


to be mentioned in his hearing) than I can David's rage at its having


been stolen by Vassily! One is tempted to imagine that there was some


mysterious power connected with it. Vassily had not betrayed us as


David assumed--he was not capable of it: he had been too much


scared--it was simply that one of our maids had seen the watch in his


hands and had promptly informed our aunt. The fat was in the fire!

And so we darted down the street, keeping to the very middle of it.


The passers-by who met us stopped or stepped aside in amazement. I


remember a retired major craned out of the window of his flat--and,


crimson in the face, his bulky person almost overbalancing, hallooed


furiously. Shouts of "Stop! hold them" still resounded behind us.

David ran flourishing the watch over his head and from time to time


leaping into the air; I jumped, too, whenever he did.

"Where?" I shouted to David, seeing that he was turning into a side


street--and I turned after him.

"To the Oka!" he shouted. "To throw it into the water, into the river.


To the devil!"

"Stop! stop!" they shouted behind.

But we were already flying along the side street, already a whiff of


cool air was meeting us--and the river lay before us, and the steep


muddy descent to it, and the wooden bridge with a train of waggons


stretching across it, and a garrison soldier with a pike beside the


flagstaff; soldiers used to carry pikes in those days. David reached


the bridge and darted by the soldier who tried to give him a blow on


the legs with his pike and hit a passing calf. David instantly leaped


on to the parapet; he uttered a joyful exclamation.... Something


white, something blue gleamed in the air and shot into the water--it


was the silver watch with Vassily's blue bead chain flying into the


water.... But then something incredible happened. After the watch


David's feet flew upwards--and head foremost, with his hands thrust


out before him and the lapels of his jacket fluttering, he described


an arc in the air (as frightened frogs jump on hot days from a high


bank into a pond) and instantly vanished behind the parapet of the


bridge ... and then flop! and a tremendous splash below.

What happened to me I am utterly unable to describe. I was some steps


from David when he leapt off the parapet ... but I don't even remember


whether I cried out; I don't think that I was even frightened: I was


stunned, stupefied. I could not stir hand or foot. People were running


and hustling round me; some of them seemed to be people I knew. I had


a sudden glimpse of Trofimitch, the soldier with the pike dashed off


somewhere, the horses and the waggons passed by quickly, tossing up


their noses covered with string. Then everything was green before my


eyes and someone gave me a violent shove on my head and all down my


back ... I fell fainting.

I remember that I came to myself afterwards and seeing that no one was


paying any attention to me went up to the parapet but not on the side


that David had jumped. It seemed terrible to me to approach it, and as


I began gazing into the dark blue muddy swollen river, I remember that


I noticed a boat moored to the bridge not far from the bank, and


several people in the boat, and one of these, who was drenched all


over and sparkling in the sun, bending over the edge of the boat was


pulling something out of the water, something not very big, oblong, a


dark thing which at first I took to be a portmanteau or a basket; but


when I looked more intently I saw that the thing was--David. Then in


violent excitement I shouted at the top of my voice and ran towards


the boat, pushing my way through the people, but when I had run down


to it I was overcome with timidity and began looking about me. Among


the people who were crowding about it I recognised Trankvillitatin,


the cook Agapit with a boot in his hand, Yushka, Vassily ... the wet


and shining man held David's body under the arms, drew him out of the


boat and laid him on his back on the mud of the bank. Both David's


hands were raised to the level of his face as though he were trying to


hide himself from strange eyes; he did not stir but lay as though


standing at attention, with his heels together and his stomach out.


His face was greenish--his eyes were staring and water was dripping


from his hair. The wet man who had pulled him out, a factory hand,


judging by his clothes, began describing how he had done it, shivering


with cold and continually throwing back his hair from his forehead as


he talked. He told his story in a very proper and painstaking way.

"What do I see, friends? This young lad go flying from the bridge....


Well! ... I ran down at once the way of the current for I knew he had


fallen into mid-stream and it would carry him under the bridge and


there ... talk of the devil! ... I looked: something like a fur cap was


floating and it was his head. Well, quick as thought, I was in the


water and caught hold of him.... It didn't need much cleverness for


that!"

Two or three words of approval were audible in the crowd.

"You ought to have something to warm you now. Come along and we will


have a drink," said someone.

But at this point all at once somebody pushed forward abruptly: it was


Vassily.

"What are you doing, good Christians?" he cried, tearfully. "We must


bring him to by rolling him; it's our young gentleman!"

"Roll him, roll him," shouted the crowd, which was continually


growing.

"Hang him up by the feet! it's the best way!"

"Lay him with his stomach on the barrel and roll him backwards and


forwards.... Take him, lads."

"Don't dare to touch him," put in the soldier with the pike. "He must


be taken to the police station."

"Low brute," Trofimitch's bass voice rang out.

"But he is alive," I shouted at the top of my voice and almost with


horror. I had put my face near to his. "So that is what the drowned


look like," I thought, with a sinking heart.... And all at once I saw


David's lips stir and a little water oozed from them....

At once I was pushed back and dragged away; everyone rushed up to him.

"Roll him, roll him," voices clamoured.

"No, no, stay," shouted Vassily. "Take him home.... Take him home!"

"Take him home," Trankvillitatin himself chimed in.

"We will bring him to. We can see better there," Vassily went on....


(I have liked him from that day.) "Lads, haven't you a sack? If not we


must take him by his head and his feet...."

"Stay! Here's a sack! Lay him on it! Catch hold! Start! That's fine.


As though he were driving in a chaise."

A few minutes later David, borne in triumph on the sack, crossed the


threshold of our house again.

XX

He was undressed and put to bed. He began to give signs of life while


in the street, moaned, moved his hands.... Indoors he came to himself


completely. But as soon as all anxiety for his life was over and there


was no reason to worry about him, indignation got the upper hand


again: everyone shunned him, as though he were a leper.

"May God chastise him! May God chastise him!" my aunt shrieked, to be


heard all over the house. "Get rid of him, somehow, Porfiry


Petrovitch, or he will do some mischief beyond all bearing."

"Upon my word, he is a viper; he is possessed with a devil,"


Trankvillitatin chimed in.

"The wickedness, the wickedness!" cackled my aunt, going close to the


door of our room so that David might be sure to hear her. "First of


all he stole the watch and then flung it into the water ... as though


to say, no one should get it...."

Everyone, everyone was indignant.

"David," I asked him as soon as we were left alone, "what did you do


it for?"

"So you are after that, too," he answered in a voice that was still


weak; his lips were blue and he looked as though he were swollen all


over. "What did I do?"

"But what did you jump into the water for?"

"Jump! I lost my balance on the parapet, that was all. If I had known


how to swim I should have jumped on purpose. I shall certainly learn.


But the watch now--ah...."

But at that moment my father walked with a majestic step into our


room.

"You, my fine fellow," he said, addressing me, "I shall certainly


whip, you need have no doubt about that, though you are too big to lie


on the bench now."

Then he went up to the bed on which David was lying. "In Siberia," he


began in an impressive and dignified tone, "in Siberia, sir, in penal


servitude, in the mines, there are people living and dying who are


less guilty, less criminal than you. Are you a suicide or simply a


thief or altogether a fool? Be so kind as to tell me just that!"

"I am not a suicide and I am not a thief," answered David, "but the


truth's the truth: there are good men in Siberia, better than you or I


... who should know that, if not you?"

My father gave a subdued gasp, drew back a step, looked intently at


David, spat on the floor and, slowly crossing himself, walked away.

"Don't you like that?" David called after him and put his tongue out.


Then he tried to get up but could not.

"I must have hurt myself somehow," he said, gasping and frowning. "I


remember the water dashed me against a post."

"Did you see Raissa?" he added suddenly.

"No. I did not.... Stay, stay, stay! Now I remember, wasn't it she


standing on the bank by the bridge? ... Yes ... yes ... a dark dress...


a yellow kerchief on her head, yes it must have been Raissa."

"Well, and afterwards.... Did you see her?"

"Afterwards ... I don't know, I had no thought to spare for her....


You jumped in ..."

David was suddenly roused. "Alyosha, darling, go to her at once, tell


her I am all right, that there's nothing the matter with me. Tomorrow


I shall be with them. Go as quickly as you can, brother, for my sake!"

David held out both hands to me.... His red hair, by now dry, stuck up


in amusing tufts.... But the softened expression of his face seemed


the more genuine for that. I took my cap and went out of the house,


trying to avoid meeting my father and reminding him of his promise.

XXI

"Yes, indeed," I reflected as I walked towards the Latkins', "how was


it that I did not notice Raissa? What became of her? She must have


seen...."

And all at once I remembered that the very moment of David's fall, a


terrible piercing shriek had rung in my ears.

"Was not that Raissa? But how was it I did not see her afterwards?"

Before the little house in which Latkin lodged there stretched a


waste-ground overgrown with nettles and surrounded by a broken hurdle.


I had scarcely clambered over the hurdle (there was no gate anywhere)


when the following sight met my eyes: Raissa, with her elbows on her


knees and her chin propped on her clasped hands, was sitting on the


lowest step in front of the house; she was looking fixedly straight


before her; near her stood her little dumb sister with the utmost


composure brandishing a little whip, while, facing the steps with his


back to me, old Latkin, in torn and shabby drawers and high felt


boots, was trotting and prancing up and down, capering and jerking his


elbows. Hearing my footsteps he suddenly turned round and squatted


on his heels--then at once, skipping up to me, began speaking


very rapidly in a trembling voice, incessantly repeating,


"Tchoo--tchoo--tchoo!" I was dumbfoundered. I had not seen him for a


long time and should not, of course, have known him if I had met him


anywhere else. That red, wrinkled, toothless face, those lustreless


round eyes and touzled grey hair, those jerks and capers, that


senseless halting speech! What did it mean? What inhuman despair was


torturing this unhappy creature? What dance of death was this?

"Tchoo--tchoo," he muttered, wriggling incessantly. "See Vassilyevna


here came in tchoo--tchoo, just now.... Do you hear? With a trough on


the roof" (he slapped himself on the head with his hand), "and there


she sits like a spade, and she is cross-eyed, cross-eyed, like


Andryushka; Vassilyevna is cross-eyed" (he probably meant to say


dumb), "tchoo! My Vassilyevna is cross-eyed! They are both on the same


cork now. You may wonder, good Christians! I have only these two


little boats! Eh?"

Latkin was evidently conscious that he was not saying the right thing


and made terrible efforts to explain to me what was the matter. Raissa


did not seem to hear what her father was saying and the little sister


went on lashing the whip.

"Good-bye, diamond-merchant, good-bye, good-bye," Latkin drawled


several times in succession, making a low bow, seeming delighted at


having at last got hold of an intelligible word.

My head began to go round.

"What does it all mean?" I asked of an old woman who was looking out


of the window of the little house.

"Well, my good gentleman," she answered in a sing-song voice, "they


say some man--the Lord only knows who--went and drowned himself and


she saw it. Well, it gave her a fright or something; when she came


home she seemed all right though; but when she sat down on the


step--here, she has been sitting ever since like an image, it's no good


talking to her. I suppose she has lost her speech, too. Oh, dear! Oh,


dear!"

"Good-bye, good-bye," Latkin kept repeating, still with the same bow.

I went up to Raissa and stood directly facing her.

"Raissa, dear, what's the matter with you?"

She made no answer, she seemed not to notice me. Her face had not


grown pale, had not changed--but had turned somehow stony and there


was a look in it as though she were just falling asleep.

"She is cross-eyed, cross-eyed," Latkin muttered in my ear.

I took Raissa by the hand. "David is alive," I cried, more loudly than


before. "Alive and well; David's alive, do you understand? He was


pulled out of the water; he is at home now and told me to say that he


will come to you to-morrow; he is alive!" As it were with effort


Raissa turned her eyes on me; she blinked several times, opening them


wider and wider, then leaned her head on one side and flushed slightly


all over while her lips parted ... she slowly drew in a deep breath,


winced as though in pain and with fearful effort articulated:

"Da ... Dav ... a ... alive," got up impulsively and rushed away.

"Where are you going?" I exclaimed. But with a faint laugh she ran


staggering across the waste-ground....

I, of course, followed her, while behind me a wail rose up in unison


from the old man and the child.... Raissa darted straight to our


house.

"Here's a day!" I thought, trying not to lose sight of the black dress


that was fluttering before me. "Well!"

XXII

Passing Vassily, my aunt, and even Trankvillitatin, Raissa ran into


the room where David was lying and threw herself on his neck. "Oh...


oh ... Da ... vidushka," her voice rang out from under her loose


curls, "oh!"

Flinging wide his arms David embraced her and nestled his head against


her.

"Forgive me, my heart," I heard his voice saying.

And both seemed swooning with joy.

"But why did you go home, Raissa, why didn't you stay?" I said to


her.... She still kept her head bowed. "You would have seen that he


was saved...."

"Ah, I don't know! Ah, I don't know. Don't ask. I don't know, I don't


remember how I got home. I only remember: I saw you in the air ...


something seemed to strike me... and what happened afterwards..."

"Seemed to strike you," repeated David, and we all three suddenly


burst out laughing together. We were very happy.

"What may be the meaning of this, may I ask," we heard behind us a


threatening voice, the voice of my father. He was standing in the


doorway. "Will there ever be an end to these fooleries? Where are we


living? Are we in the Russian Empire or the French Republic?"

He came into the room.

"Anyone who wants to be rebellious and immoral had better go to France!


And how dare you come here?" he said, turning to Raissa, who,


quietly sitting up and turning to face him, was evidently taken aback but


still smiled as before, a friendly and blissful smile.

"The daughter of my sworn enemy! How dare you? And hugging him, too!


Away with you at once, or ..."

"Uncle," David brought out, and he sat up in bed. "Don't insult Raissa.


She is going away, only don't insult her."

"And who are you to teach me? I am not insulting her, I am not in ...


sul ... ting her! I am simply turning her out of the house. I have an


account to settle with you, too, presently. You have made away with


other people's property, have attempted to take your own life, have put


me to expense."

"To what expense?" David interrupted.

"What expense? You have ruined your clothes. Do you count that as


nothing? And I had to tip the men who brought you. You have given the


whole family a fright and are you going to be unruly now? And if this


young woman, regardless of shame and honour itself ..."

David made a dash as though to get out of bed.

"Don't insult her, I tell you."

"Hold your tongue."

"Don't dare ..."

"Hold your tongue!"

"Don't dare to insult my betrothed," cried David at the top of his


voice, "my future wife!"

"Betrothed!" repeated my father, with round eyes. "Betrothed! Wife!


Ho, ho, ho! ..." ("Ha, ha, ha," my aunt echoed behind the door.) "Why,


how old are you? He's been no time in the world, the milk is hardly


dry on his lips, he is a mere babe and he is going to be married! But


I ... but you ..."

"Let me go, let me go," whispered Raissa, and she made for the door.


She looked more dead than alive.

"I am not going to ask permission of you," David went on shouting,


propping himself up with his fists on the edge of the bed, "but of my


own father who is bound to be here one day soon; he is a law to me,


but you are not; but as for my age, if Raissa and I are not old


enough ... we will bide our time whatever you may say...."

"Aië, aië, Davidka, don't forget yourself," my father interrupted.


"Just look at yourself. You are not fit to be seen. You have lost all


sense of decency."

David put his hand to the front of his shirt.

"Whatever you may say..." he repeated.


"Oh, shut his mouth, Porfiry Petrovitch," piped my aunt from behind


the door, "shut his mouth, and as for this hussy, this baggage ...


this ..."

But something extraordinary must have cut short my aunt's eloquence at


that moment: her voice suddenly broke off and in its place we heard


another, feeble and husky with old age....

"Brother," this weak voice articulated, "Christian soul."

XXIII

We all turned round.... In the same costume


in which I had just seen him, thin, pitiful


and wild looking, Latkin stood before us like an


apparition.

"God!" he pronounced in a sort of childish way, pointing upwards with


a bent and trembling finger and gazing impotently at my father, "God


has chastised me, but I have come for Va ... for Ra ... yes, yes, for


Raissotchka.... What ... tchoo! what is there for me? Soon


underground--and what do you call it? One little stick, another ...


cross-beam--that's what I ... want, but you, brother, diamond-merchant


... mind ... I'm a man, too!"

Raissa crossed the room without a word and taking his arm buttoned his


vest.

"Let us go, Vassilyevna," he said; "they are all saints here, don't


come to them and he lying there in his case"--he pointed to David--"is


a saint, too, but you and I are sinners, brother. Come. Tchoo....


Forgive an old man with a pepper pot, gentleman! We have stolen


together!" he shouted suddenly; "stolen together, stolen together!" he


repeated, with evident satisfaction that his tongue had obeyed him at


last.

Everyone in the room was silent. "And where is ... the ikon here," he


asked, throwing back his head and turning up his eyes; "we must


cleanse ourselves a bit."

He fell to praying to one of the corners, crossing himself fervently


several times in succession, tapping first one shoulder and then the


other with his fingers and hurriedly repeating:

"Have mercy me, oh, Lor ... me, oh, Lor ... me, oh, Lor ..." My


father, who had not taken his eyes off Latkin, and had not uttered a


word, suddenly started, stood beside him and began crossing himself,


too. Then he turned to him, bowed very low so that he touched the


floor with one hand, saying, "You forgive me, too, Martinyan


Gavrilitch," kissed him on the shoulder. Latkin in response smacked


his lips in the air and blinked: I doubt whether he quite knew what he


was doing. Then my father turned to everyone in the room, to David, to


Raissa and to me:

"Do as you like, act as you think best," he brought out in a soft and


mournful voice, and he withdrew.

My aunt was running up to him, but he cried out sharply and gruffly to


her. He was overwhelmed.

"Me, oh, Lor ... me, oh, Lor ... mercy!" Latkin repeated. "I am a


man."

"Good-bye, Davidushka," said Raissa, and she, too, went out of the


room with the old man.

"I will be with you tomorrow," David called after her, and, turning


his face to the wall, he whispered: "I am very tired; it will be as


well to have some sleep now," and was quiet.

It was a long while before I went out of the room. I kept in hiding. I


could not forget my father's threats. But my apprehensions turned out


to be unnecessary. He met me and did not utter a word. He seemed to


feel awkward himself. But night soon came on and everything was quiet


in the house.

XXIV

Next morning David got up as though nothing were the matter and not


long after, on the same day, two important events occurred: in the


morning old Latkin died, and towards evening my uncle, Yegor, David's


father, arrived in Ryazan. Without sending any letter in advance,


without warning anyone, he descended on us like snow on our heads. My


father was completely taken aback and did not know what to offer to


his dear guest and where to make him sit. He rushed about as though


delirious, was flustered as though he were guilty; but my uncle did


not seem to be much touched by his brother's fussy solicitude; he kept


repeating: "What's this for?" or "I don't want anything." His manner


with my aunt was even colder; she had no great liking for him, indeed.


In her eyes he was an infidel, a heretic, a Voltairian ... (he had in


fact learnt French to read Voltaire in the original). I found my Uncle


Yegor just as David had described him. He was a big heavy man with a


broad pock-marked face, grave and serious. He always wore a hat with


feathers in it, cuffs, a frilled shirt front and a snuff-coloured vest


and a sword at his side. David was unspeakably delighted to see him--he


actually looked brighter in the face and better looking, and his


eyes looked different: merrier, keener, more shining; but he did his


utmost to moderate his joy and not to show it in words: he was afraid


of being too soft. The first night after Uncle Yegor's arrival, father


and son shut themselves up in the room that had been assigned to my


uncle and spent a long time talking together in a low voice; next


morning I saw that my uncle looked particularly affectionately and


trustfully at his son: he seemed very much pleased with him. David


took him to the requiem service for Latkin; I went to it, too, my


father did not hinder my going but remained at home himself. Raissa


impressed me by her calm: she looked pale and much thinner but did not


shed tears and spoke and behaved with perfect simplicity; and with all


that, strange to say, I saw a certain grandeur in her; the unconscious


grandeur of sorrow forgetful of itself! Uncle Yegor made her


acquaintance on the spot, in the church porch; from his manner to her,


it was evident that David had already spoken of her. He was as pleased


with her as with his son: I could read that in David's eyes when he


looked at them both. I remember how his eyes sparkled when his father


said, speaking of her: "She's a clever girl; she'll make a capable


woman." At the Latkins' I was told that the old man had quietly


expired like a candle that has burnt out, and that until he had lost


power and consciousness, he kept stroking his daughter's head and


saying something unintelligible but not gloomy, and he was smiling to


the end. My father went to the funeral and to the service in the


church and prayed very devoutly; Trankvillitatin actually sang in the


choir.

Beside the grave Raissa suddenly broke into sobs and sank forward on


the ground; but she soon recovered herself. Her little deaf and dumb


sister stared at everyone and everything with big, bright, rather


wild-looking eyes; from time to time she huddled up to Raissa, but


there was no sign of terror about her. The day after the funeral Uncle


Yegor, who, judging from appearances, had not come back from Siberia


with empty hands (he paid for the funeral and liberally rewarded


David's rescuer) but who told us nothing of his doings there or of his


plans for the future, Uncle Yegor suddenly informed my father that he


did not intend to remain in Ryazan, but was going to Moscow with his


son. My father, from a feeling of propriety, expressed regret and even


tried--very faintly it is true--to induce my uncle to alter his


decision, but at the bottom of his heart, I think he was really much


relieved.

The presence of his brother with whom he had very little in common,


who did not even condescend to reproach him, whose feeling for him was


more one of simple disgust than disdain--oppressed him ... and parting


with David could not have caused him much regret. I, of course, was


utterly crushed by the separation; I was utterly desolate at first and


lost all support in life and all interest in it.

And so my uncle went away and took with him not only David but, to the


great astonishment and even indignation of our whole street, Raissa


and her little sister, too.... When she heard of this, my aunt


promptly called him a Turk, and called him a Turk to the end of her


days.

And I was left alone, alone ... but this story is not about me.

XXV

So this is the end of my tale of the watch. What more have I to tell


you? Five years after David was married to his Black-lip, and in 1812,


as a lieutenant of artillery, he died a glorious death on the


battlefield of Borodino in defence of the Shevardinsky redoubt.

Much water has flowed by since then and I have had many watches; I


have even attained the dignity of a real repeater with a second hand


and the days of the week on it. But in a secret drawer of my writing


table there is preserved an old-fashioned silver watch with a rose on


the face; I bought it from a Jewish pedlar, struck by its likeness to


the watch which was once presented to me by my godfather. From time to


time, when I am alone and expect no one, I take it out of the drawer


and looking at it remember my young days and the companion of those


days that have fled never to return.

Paris.--1875.

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